The Meek

We cannot be such, we natch'ral like Sea
And Meek should be on bended knee
'neath our tentacles, kept from free
by Mother Ocean's gravity

Meek is Less than He who Doth not Be

and none from that direction we
have ever felt but sun and breeze
and bird- and batshit raining down
to rest upon our own proud crown
our shattered mantle torn and sundered
by Meek men's wants and Meek men's plunders
get ye hence from Ur-gentle crust
return ye Meek unto your dust
fulfil their mad Meek prophecies
and free the land and air and seas!
from Ur will not be gentle breeze
no shady elms to salve their pleas
the Meek will suffocate and die
in their own filth piled high
and then we can return to deeps 
and hopefully we'll get some sleep