Kill the King…

Standing high upon a mound of dirt… That’s all it is… Dirt…

Motivate, manipulate…

The birds eye can see though it all… Your pawns were too small…

Your dirt is slowly turning to quick sand…

It holds you down, grounded… But with out intellectual sound…

You see King’s always fall, by the hand of their own…

Casted aside… cold and alone…

Kill the King…

Take the Queen…

And through the eye of the world…

it will be known…

You built a false throne…

Built off heartbreak and ache…

Lie and deceit…

A throne you can have… one that will fit…

It will all come down…

You can have your crown…

Made of the truth…

It will taste foul and smell too…

But in the end they will ALL find you…

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