Scepter Of The Skull

End of times for mortals,


A gaze into a nightmarish portal,



All that is left is ruin and bone,



The remains that couldn't atone,



Only one remains,



Traded his humanity for ungodly gains,



He rules this blasted land,



A cracked scepter rests in his hand,



Paler than the bones left in the ditch,



The dark majesty of a skeletal witch,



Time erased the mask of his skin,



Always wears his skeletal grin,



A dark incantation from unmoving jaws,



Breaking most of nature's laws,



As old bones once more stir,



With strands of hair and moss like fur,



Old dead arise to his spell,



Not knowing they serve a force worse than Hell,



Their souls gone and bodies without control,



The dark clouds begin their roll,



As storms herald their new arrival,



A perverse play on human revival,



Behold a lich king,



With his scepter and cracked ring,



On this plane of the dead,



Oh so it is said,



That when the pale king rose,



Bearing the scepter of bones from his foes,



The dead would walk,



No more would the mortals in their markets talk,



As they assemble from their old boneyards,



To answer the call from a sound made by a demonic bard,



The living long since vanished from this place,



Only now the Earth is inhabited by a skeletal race