Inana guide our path
One percent and waning,
Not too long ’til done,
The time has just hit midnight.
There’s no sign of the Sun.
The Moon has almost vanished,
The sky will soon be ours,
Time to grab your weapons,
We’re flying off to Mars.
We’re off to meet our Master,
Our Magister, our Lord.
He’ll be sat there waiting.
With His flaming Sword.
Ready to cast Judgement
On those who break His Will.
We’ll take in our instructions,
Beneath His holy hill.
When done He’ll give the Blessing,
As the morning dew,
The Master’s gift of power.
Restoring it to you.
You’ll see it’s just past midnight.
So you might have missed your chance,
To meet the Lord your Master.
And join the merry dance.
So next year we’ll be waiting,
For you to join our game.
You’ll find the date is different,
But His Name will stay the same.
The Angry Farmer 