Atavist arise

how the old souls wish to speak in ancient tongues
some in snarls cries and whispers...
do you remember the tribe in the trees?
from the great spring of the spider king
we rise from a primordial sea
to ascend to a throne of smoke and steel...
we stare through blank and blackened eyes
and live so all others may die
across an ocean of time of draught and of flood
we live on the rush from a poppy's blood
from worship of moon and sun
to create the spear, the blade and gun
upon my hands are wings to command these things
what things
what great deeds and things lie inside my veins
am i so great
only so great as these things that surround me
remember the language so old it's ancient
speak it, cry it out
a tongue so old it touches, teaches, loves and hates
and is the root of all that is forsaken
i look out to see and call the strike to end it all
our kingdom...
torn down and rebuilt to nothing
i hang my head as these walls of flame come crashing down
the oceans swell and swallow all
my scences too strong to stand
i see pain, hear cries, and clutch the barren sand
the foul stench and bitter taste
are the last memories of our doomed race