| Thus now he knelt before the ruins,
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| Cold of sweat and heat of flame,
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| To vow the severed heads of those who brought the village to its shame.
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| Those who plundered, pillaged, pilfered lives would now accept the blame.
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| He would find them all with a mighty vengeance paid for in their pain.
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| Shah — Jan, the king of kings,
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| Wore seven rings and sixty feathers plucked from sparrow’s wings.
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| Growing fat on the throne where he sat like a stone
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| As a man who has known no hunger or shown no mercy
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| In promises broke like a bone.
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| Dispersed about his people,
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| Rostam calls out for his equals in thirst to rise and cast curse,
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| Exact the worst revenge on enemies to hang from trees.
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| The royalty must die
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| Like common beggars and petty thieves.
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| Those who rule against us will murdered where they stand.
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| Let our arrows rain from the sky to drain the blood into the land.
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| If mortal stands before us,
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| Strike him down with sleight of hand.
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| And if heaven rides against us,
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| God himself then must be damned |