We mourned him as the rain poured down
and mingled with our tears.
We watched him shrink in on himself
through dark and lonely years,
a bitter man whose bitter soul
was conquered by his fears.
He faces an eternal judge,
no jury of his peers.
No counselors or comfort now,
no riotous crowds with jeers.
He’d seen death coming for us,
but his cries fell on deaf ears.
He begged and begged us for their lives,
but still we killed the seers.
So now we wait here for the end,
surrounded by our biers.
And through the silent, empty hall
we hear the demon voices call.
We run, and run and fall, and fall.
Fate’s laughter washes over all.
We killed the heralds of our hell,
and did not hear the killing knell,
the minor notes of broken bell.
And me, the one who’s left to tell,
was once a man, but now a shell.
BlackQuill 