To the darkness I would have never turned,
if it had not been for such a crime unjust,
though you grow within a home unearned,
what shall you do when I am dust?
On my vital essence you feast and dine,
growing round and plump with your greedy lust,
bathing yourself in my heart’s red wine,
on what shall you feast when I am dust?
If I had known my bulwark would fade and wane,
and your clones would rally to wrest my trust,
I’d have cast you out and seen you slain,
alas, I’ll have my victory when I am dust.