I am not one to dispute the will of God , divine will becomes our lot , but I question the right of tyrants . Charred cities after their sacking , the cries of dependent humanity , sent to feed searing flames , the weak , meek and lame , no daylight dawns again , a winding trail of chains and clubs , the gathered wounded ; conquered , these tyrants do not govern , they seize and consume their fill , then hunger rumbles again , they repeat their atrocities , till the Fates pluck them . For each tyrant reaped , by droves victims precede them , their number exceed sacrificial offerings , made to appease wrathful spirits , or custom of ceremony , of a deity worshipped . TWELFTH MORSEL Our moments of glory a lifetime to remember fair token of youth?s vigour Carve now before the die sets while still new and pliable when it dries your mark stays hardened and nobly set surpassing life of wilted crowns a monument in your honour Our moments of glory a lifetime to remember come pay heed to youth?s prayer We won?t be here to bother having surpassed such worries earthborn to earth it goes like Assyrian ruins to those with merits deserving God and kind Fortune preserve them Our moments of glory a lifetime to remember mementos of youth?s flower THIRTEENTH MORSEL A peasant who wishes for more changes his plough for arms The army has loyal farmers with absent fathers away far Children of empire?s troops though honoured their father?s name they hardly know the man well though his name they proudly bear Years abroad have rendered fathers estranged from families and friends yet love and regard still remain after gaps of years and distance A peasant who wishes for more changes his plough for arms fertile fields left idle while we take grain from conquered lands For children whom fathers left when they were too young to recall esteem comes to their hearts prior before the warmth of filial love At long last parted faces meet again strange and familiar strange yet familiar they rekindle ties and retell tidings memories and previous habits return Fertile fields left idle while we take grain from conquered lands the army has its own farmers with absent fathers battling far Families once again reunited when warriors in togas turn civilians their children venture and nestle gladly FOURTEENTH MORSEL ?De mortuis nil nisi bonum? speak well of the departed or else do not speak at all . The now sacred departed immune to our rebuke rejoice with their memory. ?De mortuis nil nisi bonum? speak well of the departed or else do not speak at all . Allow their good part live on they have gone beyond the gates those whom we regard dearly. FIFTEENTH MORSEL What draws us to oracles ? Those structures where we worship , The place where future unfolds , For those who are uncertain , Gripped by Trouble?s tentacles .