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Upon a throne of brittle bone.

He feeds where light has never shone.

A crown of ticks, a leech's kiss.

His court a grave, his scepter bliss.

A crown of flies

a gospel of greed.

Prince of parasites

He whispers sweetly through decay.

Where rotting kings are swept away.

His blood is borrowed, cold and thin.

He rules beneath your crawling skin.