He handed me twelve seed-sized bullets,

And told me not to come down the river

Until the soulless sirens wailed

For all the lost sons and daughters of Olympus,

And the fallen marble temples coated in soot and ichor

By legions of fleeing deities and their priests.

No empire nor man is safe from itself;

No amount of gold can make the ferryman bring one back either.

Even immortality itself can die if we forget.

Once you've been crushed underfoot by a titan,

Or thunderstruck with blissful agony,

You're better off taking a shot of tainted ambrosia

Than you would be trying to outrun that damned dog.

Trust me, I've tried