We tiptoe around egos
The size of mountains
To find the dragonbreath
Still reeking of long forgotten worlds
And as the haze fades,
We find we're back
Back where we used to poke holes
In the holy water
Where men dotted these lands
Like blotches on scarred skin
And the dragonbreath
Still smells sweetly foul,
Or foully sweet
But either way,
The wolves will lap at our bones
Until daybreak,
Where the reclamation begins