Upon a pedestal, Like you always are. So proud. So damn arrogant. Why can't you just fall? Atop the crumbled marble That's been chipped at for years. Can't you let it hurt you? And share in the pain of those who carved it. How can you stand there? With their scratches upon your legs With their corpses littered before you. With your clothes, no more than scraps,
Covered in the blood and sweat of others And how can you keep your head raised? Is it so you can't see the debris at your feet? Too ashamed to acknowledge the felled acolytes who built the tower you stand upon?
Or are you frightened by just how thin your tower has become?
Don't let that tear cut through the filth on your face. For we know the sympathy is for yourself At your own perceived hardships. But the acolytes, They'll praise the crystal lie.
Like you've shed it to sate their thirst
So enjoy your pedestal, Because the day of the fall approaches And the parched will realise your tears are second to the taste of your blood.
