Emancipation, the proclamation
Sovereignty, the decree
With more than you could ever dream, mother dear
Won't you give some to me?

Nomadic gypsy from the moment of birth
Cries of freedom punctuate each verse
Here I'm warmed by a fire of splinters, my child
Built from wreckage remaining after your curse

Mountains of sparkling gems
Fewer fingers than you have rings
Let me hold that winged bauble, mother dear
I love how the caged bird sings.

Perched in the lap of luxury
Made possible by diligence and invested time
Experience proved you unworthy, my child
You must accept this little bird as mine

The queue wraps around the corner
Would one be missed if he stepped out of line?
Offer me a symbol of your love, mother dear
I want to possess it and make it mine

The masses are not faceless
As many so want to believe
Think about what you truly desire, my child
It is none but yourself which you deceive

I'll throw a fit, you know I will
I'll rant and fuss and shout
It's unfair you're so content, mother dear
And I must go without

A romance built on suffering
Creates a kiln too hot to fire bisque
Your perfect model will crumble, my child
Impulses are destructive within a life of risk

The seduction will be too simple
I'm hoping for sobbing pleas
Your baby Siren has grown up, mother dear
What you won't give, I'll have to seize

Pleasure is so fleeting
When pantomiming the dance of glee
Your need for love is born of hate, my child
You cannot steal what has been set free

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Scarlatan, in the year 415 AF.