The King Of Hell

The god of the dead sits at his throne.
Stares at the domain, he can't call his own.
For what can he do, but sit a wait.
For more dead to arrive, that is everyones fate.
He wishes he could join them and finally rest,
But his life never ending, patience put to the test.
The god of the damned is the truly damned soul,
Destined to life eternal, stuck in this hole.
No company at his side except for the dead,
He finds himself lonely, though he's never said.
He has no temples, no worship, no glory.
They think him evil, mean, gruesom and gory.
He's still a man, yes a god, but a man.
With only the spirits holding his hands.
The throne that he sits on crumbles to dust,
And he still exists, because death simply must.