Claims to a mountain (or Free Tibet)

The princess of heaven ran atop the cornfields
And the world collapsed before her weighty shields
Crushing men who dared oppose her sovereign will.
Her voice was evil, menacing, tormented and shrill
But she was weak from the blooded flesh she had eaten
And from satiation, she was mortally beaten,
Her designs for world conquest, ruined and tattered
But not that it ever, in the world of men, mattered

As she aged, she lost her centre that could no longer hold
And as she roared, she lost immortality, decay began to unfold.
The mountain shook off her oppression, it blanked out her name
And turned its back on her, her honour turned to shame.
The mountain shrugged, as all things of this world must pass
And recovering from the stampede of red-mudded feet,
The mount put out the fresh shoots of green-liberated grass.
It is said if you listen, in the stillness of the night
You can still hear the heavenly armies at fight
And in the morning, you will hear of the invader’s defeat.

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