Your eagle stands proud,

Crowing over these brown rubies sprawled.

But my boy's in a shroud

Everyone has bowed,

Neglecting their duties while their wounds remained raw.

Your eagle stands proud.

The irksome flames of discord condense to a cloud.

Burning more, for justice, I think naught--

But my boy's in a shroud.

My heart is plagued with a drought--

A drought of sorrow, unlifted though I called.

Your eagle stands proud.

Your eagle now has a crown,

Eating grapes, uncaring to what it wrought.

But my boy's in a shorud.

And my son who has vowed

To protect your eagle even when gnawed.

Your eagle stands proud.

But my boy's in a shroud.