There are roads yet untaken where dark creatures dwell who squat in deep caves beyond the reach of man's spell. They salt the bones of the king with the flesh of the paupers. They use moons to watch us in our desolate homes
till they know each name as intimate skin. They turn as they chant each crime and each sin. This is their reason how they call themselves gods. They punish the weak in the name of The Cause.
They've scratched out their eyes so they don't have to see. They cover their mouths so they can't answer their deeds. But ears are left clear so they may hear the faint echo of the blood they have spilled in the judgement bellow