Revolution

75,627, 384 sit on the throne of the old Ottoman Empire

In the once lush, now ravished lands of Istanbul, Pendik, Ephesus

Gutted, broken, now barren

Barren like the Arctic, where the Ursus maritimus prowls

He was once the king, like the Ottomans

And depends on the seals to survive

The slippery, escaping, oily seals

Always hidden by a curtain of shadowy ice

Concealing their secrets

With Erdağon, their leader, the most slippery of them all

He rules over this barren land

Enslaving the Ursus maritimus

Giving him just enough to survive

Along with the 75,627,384

They are a wildfire

Starting from just a spark, but growing

Fighting their uphill battle

But uphill, the wildfire only strengthens

It becomes a movement

Engulfing everything in its path

No matter any efforts to extinguish it

And will one day take back what once belonged to it

Like the Ursus maritimus will devour its prey

And will reign once more

In a blaze of revolution

Conqueror.