The WItch King

 
The silvery whispers of darkness hold gently,
to be dedicated to the power of the lord,
we kingsmen hold tightly the oathes we are sworn,
on horseback we ride with a goal held in kind,
the call of our cause drives our reigns most divine,
this pact we hold dear to the heart of our core,
the one instrument to be the ruler of all,
order supreme in the absence of dissent,
an absolute justice to the power of life,
those most apt live to grow strong once again,
and us the shephards of the hazy void,
the strong shall prevail,
and we shall be free.