When we awoke, the Truth was dead.

When we awoke, 

The Truth was dead.

We thought she had only

To rest her weary head.

She took up arms

And made her bed. 

When we awoke, 

The Truth was dead. 

Her ally's had fled. 

As the last lights wounds

Ran scarlet red.

Her weapons had failed her

Dull, as the perpetrators of ignorance

Hacked, and maimed her. 

Her heroes fled the field

Dropping pens that were their swords

And books that were their shields

With their final cry they shouted:

YIELD! 

But our virtuous Truth

Had no fear of steel. 

The few that stayed

Carried her hence, from the field

When Fear was done

Had torn her limbs and cleaved

His fill.

Under an oak she lay

With no painful gasp

And no tortured bray. 

She asked for no man to stay

For no righteous priest,

Or child to pray.

She sat alone.

And watched the blood red sun

Set, on her last day. 

When we awoke, 

The Truth was dead.