Hollow Kings

They drink from cups of blood and ash,
While graves beneath them split and crash.
Their laughter coils through endless gloom,
A dirge that circles every tomb.

The earth is choked in silent screams,
As truth decays in fevered dreams.
No sun, no dawn, just smeared-out day,
A hunger that won’t turn away.

Beneath their boots, the fallen lie,
Unnamed, unwept, condemned to die.
Their sins are carved in bone and dust,
A legacy of shattered trust.

No savior walks these halls of dread,

Just hollow kings who crown the dead.
And we, the worms, still dare to pray,
While God turns silently away.