​It was late January of 1571, when midday, Inti hid from
his people.
The world ended for them, like in November 2024.
For the children of Ruby Bridges and Pachamama,
the sons and daughters​ of Kamala, Sapa Inca, and Leonard Peltier.
Los conquistadores set sail months before,
but they would not take Cusco until after Inti hid his light,
they would not take the Capitol until cowards called them hence,
but as all who worship the sun know must happen –
the whiteness of light always breeds the darkest of shadow.

Those Spaniards, made red by Inti’s love, would kill his children
lay waste to the cities, the priests, the khipu, the temples, the empire –
enslave whomsoever they could not kill, rape, or who twisted to their ways,
and take Inti’s heart back to the head that guided the hand of fire and pain –
The fifth Pious one, who killed a civilization, a hemisphere;
in the name of a god of love, sacrifice, grace, and forgiveness.

The heart of Inti was gold,
Our hearts are of muscle.
Gold melts, bends, shatters –
Muscle strains, tears, fails.
Gold gets hammered back into shape,
Muscle only heals when it stops.

For centuries, Inti could not stop, did not stop –
the heart and blood and life of his children,
they needed the light he carried to survive the cruel
jungle
that would eat them all alive if he stopped dragging that heartlight
across the sky.

What happens if I stop
carrying
all those tied
to the day-to-day
for whom the jungle waits
to subsume?

The Sun God Meets the Conquistadores – B McC./ Dali-E 3

After Inti faltered in the midday,
He picked his heart, the light, back up
and next dawn,
carried that light around the world,
for all the people
even the blood-soaked rapist Spaniards,
their pederast friars,
and the asiento slavemasters in Gibraltar.

Even though his children died, he did not stop –
The system, did not stop –
The colonist millstone ground and ground and ground
the maize until gold was crimson,
and the blood plague of the Spaniards,
killed ever so many more than
Inti ever kissed
with flame and bloody lips
at the top of handmade basalt mountains.

How can those of us, facing new conquistadores,
wielding fresh-bound torches of policy and supremacy
crying for the death of
brown and black bodies,
people who speak languages other than
American?
Those who want the death and deportation of
gold and love and maize and music
just the same as those six centuries ago
called for the death of the
of children of the god light?

How do we face the emboldened racists
born on the eclipse of
January 6th –
the conquistador horde of
othering and bigotry and fascism and supremacy?

How do we,
the post eclipse
children of the sun –
hope to last longer
than those children of
Inti
slain by Spaniards?

The offspring of the gold-heart sun
outnumbered the conquistadores
tens of thousands to one –
but can only be seen today in
vine-choked ruins,
rubble-sturine mountains,
colonist-edited history books,
or white-curated museums.

I am told –
the light will fade
forever
If we don’t stop to
breathe,
rest,
heal our torn hearts,
and hold the light for all we shine on,
despite the looming eclipse.

I’m not proud,
but I beg you Inti –
tell me how you stopped
to heal a heart broken
by hate
and still hold the light
for all
even after they killed
everyone who revered
and loved you?

At its core, Two Princes dramatizes a rivalry between two suitors vying for the affections of a single woman. The speaker—one of the two contenders—positions himself as the better choice, contrasting his sincerity and love with the material wealth of the other. This dramatic tension mirrors the romantic dilemmas found in Shakespeare’s comedies and tragedies alike, as well as in Pyramus and Thisbe, a tale of forbidden love that Shakespeare adapts into A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Shakespearean drama often foregrounds romantic competition, particularly in plays like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, and Twelfth Night. Two Princes employs a similar structure, where love is not merely a matter of individual choice but is complicated by external pressures—specifically, the dichotomy between wealth and genuine affection. The song’s speaker, much like Shakespearean lovers such as Orlando (As You Like It) or Bassanio (The Merchant of Venice), argues that his love should be valued over material prosperity. The song’s line “If you want to call me baby, just go ahead now” evokes the kind of direct appeals often found in Shakespeare’s romantic dialogues, in which lovers entreat their beloveds to choose passion over pragmatic concerns (Shakespeare, Much Ado 2.1.180-190).

Ovidian Tragedy and the Problem of Status

The contrast between the two suitors also recalls the class-based barriers in Pyramus and Thisbe, a tale recounted in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In Ovid’s narrative, the lovers are separated by their parents, who disapprove of their union. Although the song does not explicitly mention parental interference, it implicitly invokes societal pressures through the opposition of the rich prince versus the sincere but impoverished lover. The speaker’s plea suggests an awareness that love is often dictated by social constraints—a theme pervasive in both Pyramus and Thisbe and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, which directly adapts the Ovidian source material (Romeo and Juliet 1.5.92-109).

Furthermore, Pyramus and Thisbe is famously adapted as a play-within-a-play in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, where its exaggerated tragedy is used to satirize the conventions of dramatic romance. In this light, Two Princes can be read as similarly playful; it employs hyperbolic romantic rhetoric but ultimately resists tragic resolution. Instead of death, as in Pyramus and Thisbe, the stakes in Two Princes remain within the realm of emotional rather than existential drama, aligning it more with Shakespeare’s comedies than his tragedies.

Repetition and Theatrical Persuasion

A notable feature of Two Princes is its repetitive lyrical structure, particularly the refrain “Just go ahead now”, which functions as a rhetorical strategy akin to persuasive monologues in Shakespearean drama. The speaker’s insistence and direct address to the woman resemble the way Shakespeare’s characters, particularly in soliloquies, attempt to assert control over their fate through language. In Richard III, for example, Richard woos Lady Anne despite having killed her husband, employing relentless verbal manipulation (Richard III 1.2.225-250). Similarly, in Two Princes, the repeated invitation for the woman to choose mirrors these rhetorical strategies.

The lyrics also contain an almost comic self-awareness, akin to Benedick and Beatrice’s witty repartee in Much Ado About Nothing (Much Ado 5.2.35-50). The speaker’s awareness that he is competing with a wealthy rival but still framing himself as the ideal choice adds a dramatic irony reminiscent of Shakespeare’s more comedic love scenes.

  1. “One, two princes kneel before you” – This lyric establishes the competing suitors, reminiscent of Helena and Hermia’s rival lovers in A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2.2.125-135), where Lysander and Demetrius both suddenly proclaim their devotion to Helena.
  2. “That ain’t what I said now” – This phrase echoes misunderstandings and comedic miscommunication often found in Shakespearean dialogue, particularly in Twelfth Night (2.2.20-35), where Viola (as Cesario) protests her unintended wooing of Olivia.
  3. “Marry him or marry me” – The direct appeal resembles Orlando’s passionate declarations in As You Like It (3.2.320-330), where he inscribes poetry to Rosalind and insists on his unwavering devotion.
  4. “I know what a prince and lover ought to be” – This statement encapsulates the speaker’s belief in romantic idealism, similar to Bassanio’s reasoning in The Merchant of Venice (3.2.10-24), where he gambles everything for Portia’s love.

Subversion of the Love Triangle

In both Shakespearean and Ovidian traditions, love triangles frequently result in either comedic resolution (as in Much Ado About Nothing) or tragic demise (as in Romeo and Juliet). Two Princes, however, refuses to provide a resolution. The song ends without revealing whether the woman chooses either suitor, leaving the question of love open-ended. This ambiguity subverts traditional romantic narratives, in which love is either consummated or doomed, and instead offers a modern, postmodern meditation on choice, agency, and the performance of romantic appeal.

Ultimately, Two Princes serves as an unintentional but rich intertextual dialogue with the history of romantic storytelling. By engaging with tropes of wealth versus sincerity, persuasion through repetition, and the love-triangle structure, the song taps into a literary lineage stretching from Ovid to Shakespeare, repackaged within the idiom of 1990s alternative rock.

Works Cited

Ovid. Metamorphoses. Translated by A.D. Melville, Oxford UP, 1986.

Shakespeare, William. Much Ado About Nothing. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by Claire McEachern, Bloomsbury, 2016.

Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by Harold F. Brooks, Bloomsbury, 2007.

Shakespeare, William. Romeo and Juliet. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by René Weis, Bloomsbury, 2012.

Shakespeare, William. Richard III. The Arden Shakespeare, edited by James R. Siemon, Bloomsbury, 2009.