Still here, within the academy,
dealing out something dangerous:
the temple of oblivion as subterfuge.
You have no idea: a thousand necks struck down south,
But how many heads conformed?
Hungry, I have become an expert in this northern space:
I am returning, with years and wealth and wine.
This clear grape, the hybrid strength of the spliced vine: fear it.
Look, here I am, after the lecture is over,
ready to give you — finally — what you need.
See, the withdrawal was a merely a ploy.
You’re so concerned with the white man and his empire
that you failed to observe I have penetrated your city
with the Mongol princess. Like last time, she’s got the look, she’s got the moves.
But this time, it’s going to blow out completely, because I’ve turned her face to face,
branded by the sign of 100, her army charged with the Holy Anger.
Her sword is raised above you:
all it takes now is a single, beautiful stroke.
This time it’s going to be Gog and Magog in reverse.
And by two bows, doubly destructive to all you try to build.
This is our threat.
You pretenders to the throne: it is wise to be in panic at this point.