This city is mine:
Red stones burned black,
Towers high felled,
The land enticed with a taste of Death.
Etalpalli.
The people, so beautiful,
On whom no hold the earth could claim,
Burned in my fury.
Ghosts I rule now,
Echoes and screams of dreams lost.
The Pit is filled with their cries,
A coldness in the midst of the leering sky.
Etalpalli is my demesne.
The streets I roamed, burning with the hatred
That had given this land a thirst for blood.
The graves, the horrible graves!
For a moment my fire freezes.
Etalpalli!
This was not meant to be!
Etalpalli!
Faces dear, wings spread in glorious flight.
A crown, a mound, and the Bronze.
Faces torn thin in resistance.
The fire overtakes me.
A queen of ghosts,
They follow me.
Etalpalli.
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