(I) The Emperor

Standing in the space
that holds the silent lace of night
away from you...
You think that you can hold
the searing, moulten gold between
your fingers...
But it slips through,
tearing tendons as it goes,
exposing the white of a knuckle
flesh-and-metal forming letters in the mould.

Cradling you gun,
after choosing the ones
you think should die...
Lying on the hill
crawling over the windowsill
into your living-room...
They stare out,
glass-eyed aimless heads,
bodies torn by vultures
you are the man whose hands are rank
with the smell of death.
Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace
Ah, but it is the only way you know...

Looking out to sea,
a flattened plane of weeds
which bear no living...
You crush life in your fist,
as your heart is kissed
by the lips of death...
Ghosts betray you, ghosts betray you,
in the night they steal your eye
from its socket
and the ball hangs fallen on your cheek.

Complaining tongues are stilled;
a thousand mouths are filled
with rusting metal.
You face a shade of green;
somehow you try to speak through all the
garbage in your mouth
But it won't come out,
and you cannot frame the words
as your stepson
throws your fame into the flames
and you are burned.
Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace.
Ah, but it is the only way you know...

(Ii) The Room
Live by sword and you shall die so,
All your power shall come to nought,
every life you take is part of your own,
death, not power, is what you've bought.

Cringing in your room
as the outriders of doom step
on your threshold;
Begging for your life as
the impartial knife sinks in your
screaming flesh
without malice, merely taking
murder's toll,
you must pay the price of hate,
and that price
is your soul

Live in peace or die forever
in your war-room