Of a throne with a golden staff,
Adorned with poetry, a pure art.
Of a king that sat there on,
The sun and moon cower at his voice.
His advice tumbles without a soft landing.
Commands that claw at your chest,
Secret horns buried in his Crest.
When night came,
His subjects were subjected
To tell horror stories.
Of forceful adoptions and abductions,
Hidden wells and rotten bones,
Worm infested flesh and fresh sprinklers of blood.
Between the rules and the ruler lies a secret pact,
One that does not always apply.
Harsh tones, an endless supply.
Early submission and deadlines,
Multiple corrections and missing pieces,
Lines that must fall in line.
The ruler was stern, his rules more stern.