When the maestros
For this discord music
Strike their cords
To make their sounds
Even we that dance
To their melodies
Shall dance our
Souls to doom
It stays our humble plea
That you don not your armors
And touch not your spears
For it pays our globe this lot
That you build not your scaffold
that you dig not your graves
That you trap not your offspring
For salt should in its state
Delight our tongues with taste
And not so in your hate
Present our world to fate
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