If gods lie at the feet of kings,
May the filth, the stink of summer air fill my marrows
That man's footsteps seal this man in sorry dust
(Seas converged, their foam billowed my cape)
The tread of a thousand traitors echoes in this early tomb
Their venom tethered and lured me to bloodied feels
The skull-cap of rulers, imbued and set above men,
Cast into dank shadows
Dripping pens scratch and carve away my eyes and mouth
Till a limp, sagging, foul tale
Hangs on the coattails of legend, teeth bared
Long live the king, may he rot with the scum of the earth!
Bound and gagged, long live the king, on his throne of worms!

But, how do the marrow and the lungs quake!
Trembling in a seeping stream of soulful blood
Listener, true and wise, listen to my words
They shiver in the cold of this earthly dark

Write me in stone, set these broken words in monuments
Monuments of tempest, peace and war
Monuments of chained men and the walking dead

Listener, true and wise, listen to my words,
Etch these bones in the fossil of time,
For dripping pens, they labor to lock me away!
Night falls rapidly, as dust settles in the refuse of battle
Let the great name sound again, king of flies and king of despots
Let it pour in the ears of a thousand traitors
And soil their careful manuscripts
I repose in a slum of mud, a shrine of bones
But only as I wait at heaven's door for dawn to rise

Long live the king, the last of worth
Long live the king,
Ruler of filth no more!