Hey there young man with that shovel in your hand.
Did you ever think you'd wind up here.

Eyes made of glass digging at a rash hoping to conquer your fears.
But it's far to late it's been eight straight days since you've laid upon your bed.

As each night wanes the stakes are raised for death across these lands. Whispers of hate and judgement misplaced was enough to spark the flame.

Of murderous rage the crystal beget a fierce imperial reign. Tried not be swayed but conditions were made to infiltrate the state.