The massacres of old, have made up their bond,
it’s what they’re famous for, spilling their blood,
one consumed what he sewed, the other sewed, everywhere,
with brutal dictation; they destroyed what was fair,
in hypocrisy, the son, sat upon his high throne,
whilst with grimace, the father was in Tartarus below,
but in mind, they are immortal, thus a grudge will always stay,
thus, no closure, for them, in the classics, will be paid.
Fast forward to the present, this relationship sticks,
as these new Cronoses and Zeuses, make these errors, quick,
with benign pride, we think ourselves gods,
but we cry, when we make our blood drop,
mortality is our burden, so antipathy cannot last,
as it will become the reason why we become, the unfulfilled passed,
yes, let us argue, but let us also understand,
we are here for just a little while, thus, we’re cosmically not grand,
so fathers, and sons, stay your bloody attacks,
burn those stupid reasons, and try to relax,
and with ardent hubris, do what the titan and the god could not,
come up with a mutual apology, to make an example of their lot!