I'll rip off the crown you've demanded over your head for so very long,
One you did not deserve nor place respect upon its Halo from the metaphoric horns from your temples; you are wrong.

There is no honor in your practice yet the throne you sit on appeals to all the shit you've spilled and it's ideal to you to babble in your pathetic glory that you're a "man" at all.

You've sat in fraudulent glory of an image you've ever so grasped in your mind that you are the almighty and the alpha and no one can stand in your way.

But I've sat beside your selfish and greedy knowledge and I've burned to my core.

And long live the king before you burn In the fire you've stirred.

◄ If Nothing, Let There Be Nothing

Her ►


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