A king here, sat of tassels gold,
Regressed by scenery.
The city paved by maids and slaves
Rewards adultery.

Treasures bathed in brighter days
By chains that bound them, thus.
Just breaking waves, to shift and shape
The burial of lust.

A metal spire broke the sky
That shivered as God spoke.
And all the land was damp and damned.
By heretics of hope.

"We wrought no glory. No remorse.
Through the splendor of retreat.
And through the limbs of your discourse
Our swords will rightly sweep."

No potion, tonic, rue nor rum,
Could more sodden stifle up.
For through the beard of God's sincerest
Anger, did he cut.

Like whips and snaps and thunderclaps,
Kingdoms kissed the Earth.
Until glory in their words retained
A fraction of their worth.

"O' temple of redeemed regret;
One I have reaffirmed.
How bold you block the sun that mocks
The bridges that I've burned.

How calmly in construct, you stand;
How fruitfully you fit,
And through the rights of wronged men
I hope to cherish it."

No scepter palmed now, sinful king...
Thus quaking in his throne--
No more silent of the Lord's reply
Could shake harder his bones.

Thus thought the Lord of grace, of course,
But left him to the shade.
A kingdom slashed to ash and sand
Now damned by light of day.

And as he stands, no judgment wrought,
For lies he couldn't sell.
But ye, to live uncertainty...
Tis more punishment than hell.
 
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