Avian slave beneath arrays of decay

Beneath the will to move on

She is so rusted and gone

Afar from quintessence crossed

Into the realm of the lost

Slipped into the clutch of the maw

Of madness it’s savage

Where the judge is the jury

Executioners laugh at the magnanimous

Everything stripped from the flesh

Nothing left to see but a dejected show in the throes of wreckage

Because these lost prophets sit upon a stolen perch looking down on a fallen goddess

A desecrated figure devoid of any promise

The primary custodian of a land forever conquered

A society gripped in the chokehold of despair

Perpetual attunement to ruin consumes a flock of sheep in the leviathan’s lair

And the pretty little songbird

Torn asunder by each verse

Learns that from her inception

She never was a free bird