Hail to the King…

Through jaded portals and smoky haze
Like ribbons of midnight neath the silver moon
In a room of masks replete in noble fashion
Walk plain boots o’er polished marbled

"Oh heretic swathed of black" whispered looks, hushed
Of not guile does the Iiato rest sheathed, un-trembled
Cradled in cloaks of dark velvet cowls this Fenrir’s vengeance
Discontent all around lust aching though expensive threads

Kingly stature proudly demonstrated atop a brow
Civility afforded trespass: Murder, rape, genocide
Painted gollums regurgitate praise; vultures perfumed in decay
Hallow death passes smiling pretentiously behind taunt flesh

O’er nearly thee come:Thine shadow reaches to embrace
Lightning hisses; blood lustily fornicates with the phantom
A crescendo of screams and chaos; Delicious consort
Plain boots retreat and a heretic gently whispers "Hail to the king…"