He is seized by seizure, his sense censured by tremoring
His voice tremoloing cries help, loathe the fallen triumvirate
Caesar must be assassinated
Insinuate his flank with vast slashes
His wet sashes sanguinated, soaked in essence
Horribly unpleasant business, host of senators bent over him
Runnels his heavy blood tunnels out across the senate
Power’s zenith always abrupt and less mentionable than its ascent
Another blade downsent his rent flesh like damp wallpaper peelspiralling
His lesions are legion, this act our loyalty to old Rome’s sovereignty
Our forefathers warn us to slay the tyrants
Our forefathers slew their own giants.
Alchemisland 
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