Among the ruins of a crystalline life
He watches swarms of his subjects pass
And converge upon his royal wife
She fights and pushes; we still have no hope
They tear and rip and bite and chew
He doesn’t know how he will cope
But there isn’t anything he can do.
They turn to him, blood red in intent
And slowly approach his royal chair
He will go the way she went
But he will die seated there.
He grabs hold tight to his chair’s glass arm
And braces himself for their attack
He tells himself he’ll come to no harm
But soon enough he is on his back