Fallen Kings
A shallow world, a spawn of shallow dreams
Fragile is thy painted mask of glory
What is left the spectral hand redeem
like a wasteland lies our inventory
Confinement now dethrones our idle kings
Only now true heirs thy face must reveal
Disaster spreads As the bard does sing
Driving the farces as rod unto steel
This broken world must hold on to it’s breath
Dread May blistered into June’s feared domain,
Ever closer looms thy specter of death.
Our fateful march towards Agony and pain
Trial separates the first from the last
Yet like all other things this too shall pass
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