Fallen

Though his name's been forgotten, All the people downtrodden, By a king who bore wings In the Valley of Goddin. Long he reigned as the lord of the fleas; He'd black out the sun, keep men on their knees. The valley was crippled by shade and by shame; A river of thorns trailing the wintry breeze. He sought only worship though his rule, profane, Brought man to darkness in his shadow of fame. Wretched and withered, Humanity begotten Night born of Night as the wings shorn by chain. Now I am a servant, a slave of the Fallen. My ancestor was the Mason who crafted The Rotten, Or perhaps he polished madness with Shadows' disease, Either way it matters little to the dirt that I crawl in.