from the top of your haunch you yell,
a tribute of ripping fury punching from your lungs.
This is all for glory, this is all for good.
It's not until it reaches the last tile,
that a pawn becomes omnipotent.
The organ chimes a eulogy,
for the broken and dejected,
this is no attempt to sooth,
you will be saved from yourself,
and taken from your hell.
A cacophony of confusion,
battering the brave.
I am awash with apathy,
it warms me by your grave,
I mourned you once already,
but I don't believe in being saved.