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In halls of stone, where shadows creep in silence,

On parchment cold, ink stained with lies.

Seeds of discord, sown by the one in disguise,

In fertile soil of ignorance grow.

In shadows deep, weavers of wyrd paint heroes

Where secrets sleep and whispers coil,

Spin tales of hope, scenes from our puny great war

Of battles fought on distant shores.

Dealers in malice, with forked tongue they speak,

Weaving their tales of fear, for slaves to shriek.

Bards and prophets, a chorus of lies,

Spinning fables to blind weary eyes.

Words like poisoned arrows, keen and barbed.

Malice festers in the hero's gaze.

Riddles etched in fading light's embrace.

Dilate on war with fabricated lore,

Reap souls as long as this king reigns.

Elude, abhor, wear crowns with blunted thorns,

Your ground will shatter all the same.

Dealers in malice, with forked tongue they speak,

Weaving their tales of fear, for slaves to shriek.

Bards and prophets, a chorus of lies,

Spinning fables to blind weary eyes.