They forge their crowns in the fires of pride,
And hammer the gold till their empathy dies.
They sit on their thrones with the world cast aside,
To govern the earth from the height of the skies.
The Lord of the mind and the Lord of the land,
Believes that the chaos must bow to his word.
He reaches for rings that will conquer and bind,
And silences voices that dare to be heard.
But look at the tower, so dark and so tall,
The higher it reaches, the colder the air.
The Egocentric Will builds a magnificent wall,
But leaves the proud monarch to starve in the glare.
For power is heavy, a treacherous ring,
It promises order, but feeds on the soul.
It whispers of glory and makes you a king,
Then hollows you out till you're no longer whole.
They think they are masters of iron and fate,
But the master is merely a slave to the crown.
Consumed by the shadows of fear and of hate,
The weight of their arrogance dragging them down.
To hold all the power is to live in the night,
Protecting a treasure you never can spend.
The eye without eyelids, devoid of the light,
A miserable ruler alone at the end.
Salvation comes not from the lords of the earth,
With armies of steel and a conquering gaze.
It comes from the quiet, the humble of birth,
Who carry the burden through desolate days.
The gardener, the friend, the reluctant and small,
Who look at the power the mighty ones crave,
They witness the lure that could conquer them all,
And cast it away to the fire and the grave.