by Nick Gisburne
The spectral city twists among the trees
It gleams with ghostly tributes to the king
But whispers of corruption, of disease
Defile the tongues of angels as they sing
The shadows bend and break before the sound
And hordes of restless phantoms are possessed
They drag the monarch, beaten, stripped and bound
And give him life, the thing they most detest
The queen ascends to power, to the throne
Her husband’s pleas are pitiful, ignored
And as he kneels, defeated and alone
She splits his mortal body with her sword
The fight to rule this wicked place is won
Until their children learn what she has done
