old as Yggdrasil the world tree
Old as old
Arcane runes mar these arterial chambers
their meaning long forgotten
They pulse with the rhythm of ancient drums
played by unseen hands
Doom-doom
Doom-doom
You have carved yourself with whitened scar tissue
and red brown bloodstains on these fleshy tables
But now your primordial song is ending
and I will no longer listen to your tiresome tale
Nor dance to your dust-worn injudicious beats
You who have told my story for much too long
But now I take pen in hand and
write a melody far more pure and true
You red pink walls you fleshy tables beat
the rhythm of regime change of empire falling
Le Roi est morte
Vive Le Roi
