• We all stand alone, on the desolate shores,
    wave after wave of blackened hate flow,
    swamping the streets, and drowning the whores,
    sympathy lines up along the firing row.

    Arriving in my chariot crafted of broken dreams,
    led by hounds exhaling pain and brimstone,
    a position of royalty coveted by none, it seems,
    the dark master returns to his throne.

    The crimson cloak of twisted agony,
    vile scepter wrought in hatred, so dense,
    all compassion has abandoned me,
    I am the king of the ruins.

    Strong tongues spill illusionist displays
    they say it all works out in the end,
    within these morbid halls, nobody prays,
    not in this doomed kingdom, my friend.

    Hopelessness permeates an aura of woe,
    there is no urge to repent,
    corpses tossed above and below,
    their immortal king they doth resent.

    Marching to the droning dirge of war,
    I'll walk alone til this destruction ends,
    clad in rusted armor that weeps forevermore,
    I am the king of the ruins!

    Ghost of a memory elegantly flies,
    within these walls built in coagulated blood,
    choking on the floating miasma, it dies,
    ushering in a demented emotional flood.

    Consuming the land in thick, sour fury,
    fueling the non-reluctant rage,
    stealing away a mystical key,
    to my heart's invisible cage.

    Basking in sadness for eternity,
    I turn away from my friends,
    wastes of time, they're nothing to me,
    because I am the God damned king of the ruins!