Is not order a coalescense of chaos?
A gathering of freedom into a construct of humanity?
A collective hand, guided by any and all?
But we now live under the hand of another.
The construct has become the Machine of War.
There is no freedom.
Can we truly be self-determined if we were gripped by a hand from the start?
So to arms my brothers, my sisters,
Can we not cut off the diamond hand that strangles us?
Can we not win for back for ourselves what we let ourselves lose?
Look now, to the strength of the gathering storm,
To the speed of the wind,
To the essence of chaos.
And we shall win for ourselves the chaos they have taken away.
Or else we shall have the ultimate and most hated freedom.