She sits upon her throne
With a crown upon her brow
A tangled mess of dead vines and bone
She holds a scepter of rotted bough

Her throne is black as obsidian
The arms are made of skulls
Around her are her subjects
these regretful wails of souls  

This is now her kingdom
This place she was delivered
All consuming fear and fire
Where prayers cannot be whispered

Even though she did not want
She will be forever despite her quell  
She pleaded and begged all for not
She is now the queen of **Hell