Wake the King

The Damien books

Have you ever been in so much pain your body starts to shake, starts to quake, begins to ache, you think your sanity's at stake?
Have you ever been so dead inside your heart begins to break, the endless terrors of the night that coat your pillow when you wake?
Have you ever fought a demon that you know you cannot hide, it tears inside, it rips and rides, and to you it only lies?
They take their vengeance on your soul, the dark and creeping things... They sting your heart, they bite and tear until they take your wings
You fight them off with needles and smoke, you start to choke, it's all a joke, the hollow part that was your heart begins to numb and daylight breaks upon the lake
The sanguine presence fills your mind, and drowns the time with crimson wine, and all around the sound of screams that fill your dreams and crisp your wings
You lose control, it eats your soul, it swallows you whole, there's no escape,  you can't turn back the hands of time, the sandstone lime, the woods and pines begin to roll
They slowly pass, like an hourglass, the sands fall fast, but never last, shadows fall upon your grave and all their tears just cannot save
Your casket rocks, you toss and turn, and stare at worms, they never learn, they cannot eat your flesh today, the flesh so gray, but still you pay
Eternity, forever frayed, the poison door that is the grave, and all around the wooden box, a toxic smog that coats the locks
That holds the chains, that lock the brain, that mock the pain, that eats the sane, and builds the shame, the shadow lurks around the bend, your only friend, when will this end?
The charcoal wings that used to soar, they ash the floor, with endless lore, about the days so long since past, dead face aghast, eyes turned to glass
Your spirit paces in this hell, resounding bell, that rings and rings and swells and swells, you're all alone with fatal wounds, that bleed and blister the hollow shell
That is your corpse, now lying still, the daggers will, the rot and stench that is your home, melts into your bones, and turns to foam
It seeps and boils around the dirt, while skylarks lurk, they know no hurt, they only guard the desolate earth, and on the stone an epitaph, a grisly graph, scrawled and tapped
"There is no sorrow yet unknown, here lies its King, he lost his throne."

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