A thud did bang, a mile away.
The trembles reached the farthest lands.
A tall wave, higher than the Gyrets.
Came rushing ashore,
With no blockades, no regrets.
For the word "End" rang in his head,
The moment next to his thought.
His mind crumbled, his body gave away.
The shuttering blindness and the screetching tears, all that, and there he lay.
The paintings dropped, but none did pop
The glass fell but did not shatter.
The wine spilled but none did seep
The candle deflamed but the candecence stayed
The world was drowning a mountain deep.
It was indeed the end, or so he thought.
My foolish king, litle did he know.
The only day it lived, that was not-
An illusion, a brhum; a hallucination.
It was the day of life that he knew not.
With the trembling legs and loose arms,
he got up, sword in a hand, life in other.
My king, he rose, for;
The Nation was his and his, was the Nation!!
