Our power lies in you!
The hour is now, sniff your flower.
Rise to your hour of power.
Look at the bower, the nest of beauty.
How strong you must be.
Did rage or determination fuel your power?
The air has a dour scent.
The smell of blood and iron.
Will I cower from bullets or bite it?
I will rise to my hour of power.
Our future is in your hands.
Yell your commands, and rise to the occasion.
Blossom, tower over your foes.
What is your hour of power?
Keep your face stern, not sour.
Be human, be now.
Be precise and rise.
Devour your power, and don’t let go.
Fight like your name was Rochambeau.
Become the global power that may make us quake.
Make us flounder by being your own founder.
Choose mercy, or create anarchy.
Where is your hour of power?
Innocence drops to the ground like petals from a bud.
Covering the slain on the field.
Don’t ever yield to death.
Spit in its face.
Say to it, “This is my hour of power.”
Oh, how I wish when you slay your foe,
you say pow and crack!
I caught it in the back.
This is your hour of power.
When death comes a’knockin,
say, “It’s time to clock in.”
When it laughs, say to it,
“You underestimate my power.”
For you have unlimited amounts of it.
Look it in the eyes.
Smile confidently and say to it,
“You’ll never have power over me.”
The cake made with the flour of life
shall aid my strife.
To and from.
Up and down.
The blood runs down in the shower.
My power is never cooled.
It’s pooled up inside me, never tidy.
Power is always active.
Our minds stay calm.
But in my palm
is a balm.
But now it’s here.
My death comes near.
Bringing up the rear.
Peace at last.
It came quick and fast.
And now, alas, I have won.