The ‘finale’ is near, hear the Trumpets’ last call
“The Gods” are not pleased, with their backs at the wall
A voice bellows down from the skies up above
Big Brother, watching the frenzy, en mass, push and shove

Ripping, of lands from their Owners, Castles from their Lords
Lumping all in one massive, unguided, blind hoard
“The Gods” press the reset, in hopes of reprieve
And slump in the corner, as they watch hundreds of them leave

Too little, too late, not seeing the harm
Allowing the Whalers to continue Free Farm
Milking the Cow for all that it’s worth
But, that was the plan, in their heads, from it’s birth

Changing the rules, without enforcing adherence
“The Gods” promote Marketplace Items on Clearance
There’s no catching up, too much history to follow
Some, bit off to much, and now they can’t swallow

The Trumpets’ last blast, a ringing of ears
Sounding the End, of four tumultuous years

BEEP! BEEP! Goes the horn... O.o