by S. Boswell

Your words ‘effluviate’
The concepts nauseate
Your rule I would eradicate
The throne I would ‘conflagrate’
The deluge I pray to inundate
They that would steer our fate
By preaching peace against those to hate
With the blood of martyrs we will consecrate
A path not bound by aristocracy’s state
Continue your plies to sublimate
You’ll find only the trail where we lie in wait
Your banquet of chaos does not sate
Are caprice and lies your only trait
So practiced as to seem innate
No longer to pine over this empty plate
We will heave your spirit upon judgments gate.

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