---

The hue that fled our countenance

Palor that takes its place,

We greet him with glass eyes,

Parted lips,

Empty mouths

The old king is dead

The usurper ascendant

Oh few are given to roaming

For days at a time

But his malice compels us

To set our paths awry

The old king is dead

The usurper ascendant

We greet him with glass eyes,

With our tears

Vitrified

Acquiesce to his guiles

His ridicule

And the torment

The old king is dead

The usurper ascendant

Oh am I not but a worm?

Beneath the foot of my master

Am I not just a link? In the chain of my fetters?

Am I not just a grain? In the sea of your coffers?

Won't I bare for you? The yoke of your only burden?

This is not what we are

One another

This is not what I owe

One another

This is not what we owe

To the future

This is not what we owe

To the past

How could it be so?