The lowly fates are sealed;
Our societal masters have already decreed.
Souls belonging to Macedonian soldiers,
Whom rode for the Alexandrian cause,
Hearts of Poets and pious scholars,
Revolutionary thinkers and scientific tinkers.
Cast again into the River of Lethe,
Fate chosen by Moon-Spewed back into vessel anew.
Perplexed to find ourselves shunned, unrecognized in the courts of Kings.
Wisdom is eternal, accrued lots will perish.
We ourselves are our own kings, though all of you forgot.
Since I have sense, as well as you:
For what gifts indeed have you that others do not?