The Purest Land

I've slit the throats
 of clergymen and governors.
 Those bloated swine...
 May their screams unhinge
 a thankless crown.
 O King! See your soldiers
 scrape at the algae growing
 below the planks?
 They starve, yet still
 they quarrel for phantom ore
 once owed your throne.
 "Forgive this ship of fools,"
 said I to the mouths of trees,
 leaves as hellhound tongues
 outstretched to drink the stream.
 The beast flung its filth
 into the wake,
 tail coiled,
 fingers grasping
 the remains of our splintered mast.
 Once we've razed the land of gold
 I will crucify him.
 The corpses on my raft
 smell of piss and blood,
 yet they were but men,
 and all men, slaves and kings alike,
 leave stench as their epitaph.
 Not I.
 Holy Mother Church of Rome,
 cleanse this ground I conquer!
 Rain brimstone upon the judges
 who steal from the weary.
 Slaughter the Lutherans
 and priests who taint your word.
 Make Peru the purest land,
 for I am its prince
 and will forever be.
 I am its prince
 and will forever be.
 O King! See your isle
 burned by my soldiers.
 Your vassals and their wives,
 I hung them all.
 Panama will fall.
 With my daughter
 I forge an empire
 to survive us both.
 My deeds live on,
 for I have seen what men
 could only dream they saw.
 I have seen what men
 could only dream they saw.