I set a statue upon a hill
Of which got torn gladly
His glowing glamour which grant thine eyes
The pleasure of his existence, to little resistance
A virtuous vision of vicious precision
To ambitious to ignore, yet less encore
Bitter taste asserts the tyrant into his place
Falling upon his intuition, losing his recognition
The statue set in stone & thought
Torn from scorn and ripped apart
Lost thoughts linger from longer lost goals
Older tales of blazing trails, desperate to prevail
Blinded eyes bicker behind blue skies
Despite its quiet nature, repurposed for failure
Ravaged and disgraced, it awaits the next statue to take its place