---

Cresting the horizon

Beyond the hills of stone

Is hiding an enchanted,

Secluded hemlock grove

Nestled in the mountains

Where peaks are capped with snow

High above the threshold

Where roots refuse to grow

The fiefdom of the sovereign,

His vicars and sorcerers

A synod held by despots

Conspiring to control

Committing ink to paper,

Blood to seal their scrolls

Casting necromancies

To immiserate your soul

Masters of illusion

their grand designs take hold

Manipulate the cosmos

Allowing chaos to unfold

Endless divinations

To sate their every urge

Decreeing ruinations

Famines, blights and scourge

Spreading subjugation

Dominion without bounds

Serfdom for the conquered

Pastures scorched and brown

Communion with the heavens

A causal guarantee

Spirits having sundered

Perpetual drudgery

We are constantly

Under the condition

Of necessity

The illusion

Of our agency

Simulacra

Tangled in the web

Of temporal predation

Clamoring against the tide

In isolation

Struggling all alone

In vain desperation

To extricate yourself

From destruction

Thus I flail myself against

The stagnation

In the hope that I might still

One day emerge

With my sovereignty in tact

Thus my hope

Their iron grip be broken

And reversed

Un-tether me from its pull

The gravity

Preserve me from the taint

Of pernicious sorcery

Causality, necessity

Let go of me

Liberate me