by Nick Gisburne
Expect me at the moment of your death
A shadow in your citadel of stone
I come to hear the horror on your breath
I come to see you suffering, alone
The fame you fought to win is burned to ash
The people have no pity for your pain
Your glory was a momentary splash
A disappointing swirl of summer rain
I am the very opposite of hope
A secret you should never wish to see
I bring a single, slender, strand of rope
I come to drag your misery with me
Your soul, denied the rapture of release
I come to burn, with neither pause nor peace
