You create your palace

With stones of a falling tower.

Its creation springs forth your malice

As your blood runs sour.

As your land becomes dark,

Your light fades

Upon your ark,

Shrouded in shades.

You recite human vice

Upon this burial ground.

Forever locked in ice,

Your adversaries fall down.

You sit upon your darkthrone

And raise your blackened flag.

It chills their bones

And leaves nothing to brag.

When your foes taste the dirt,

You call into the wire

With bloodstains on your shirt,

With a decaying fire.

Innocent now you cry,

You fear loss of compliance.

As your power dies,

You now face defiance.

The guilty one,

Only once did you see clear.

Your unforgivable deeds are done.

What you are looking for is not here.