Slowly burning to death.
Surrounded by the heat of these dreams.
10,000 opinions are circling me.
So many voices want a say in my life,
They don't want to feel any struggle or strife.
Stung by the whips of arrogant fools,
Wet from the drip of incompetent drool.
These cretins will rot in their wrought iron cells,
While I lounge upon these gold chiming bells.
My ways are higher than the breath from their lungs,
The wind stirs my hair to the beating of drums.
Cacophonous symphony of death and despair,
Floating wantonly upon winter air.
Seasons of frost eek up from the ground,
Birds call for lost sinners from my domain hells,
Lend me your ears for a moment or two,
Hear of my hate, of my might, and beware.