The Iconoclast’s Hymn, or Masters of Mana

Come you masters of mana, you who cast all the spells,
You who cast Icebolts, you who cast Firedarts,
You that hide in your Guilds, you that hide behind Plates,
We just want you to know, we can Bolt you to death.

You that never did nothing, but read and research,
You play with the planes, like they’re your little toy,
You cast a spell at my people, then you hide from my eyes,
Then you claim it’s all harmless, that damned mage’s lie.

Like mages of old, you lie and deceive,
That a spell can be safe, and you want me to believe.
But we cast Question Spirit, and we see through your soul,
Like we saw through the waters gone down the plug-hole.

You’ve written your scrolls, for others to fire,
Then you turn back and gate, when the death count gets higher,
You sit in your Guildhouse, while warriors blood,
Flows out of their bodies and is buried in the mud.

You’ve cast the worst spells, that could ever be hurled,
You’ve brought Elementals into this world.
You’ve offered your souls, you’re cursed and you’re damned,
Your skulls will be crushed, between the Gods’ hands.

How much do we know, to talk in this way?
You might say that we’re pious, but we like it this way.
But there’s one thing we know, for we know more than you,
There’s no way the gods will overlook what you do.

Let me ask you one question, is your magic that good?
Can you summon forgiveness? Do you think that you could?
Oh, we think you will find, when we take our toll,
All the spells you can cast, won’t save you your soul.

And we know that you’ll die, and your death will come soon,
Cast Spirit Bolts at you, and we’ll do it soon,
And we’ll watch as you’re blasted onto your deathbed,
And we’ll give you no rest, just the rest of the dead.

R. Richards 21/11/1997