Within the sunken palace
The throne stands steadfast
Nicked and scarred by a thousand insurrections
Its form twisted and unrecognisable
But its power undiminished
Emaciated forms
Sowing the seeds of madness
Obsolete and infantile
The sceptre tarnished and worthless
A disease of strength
I am legion
I wrench the guts from this writhing hall
With the lungs of fire I exhale
And paint flames upon the walls of this crumbling chamber
Meaningless symbols are unto dust
The insect exposed
The vestige of our infancy
None mourn
All that is you is forgotten
