I've heard of many legend's;
Recently told upon drunken tongues,
Those long lost from mortal ears,
But there are few that stick like the one I wil retell to you.
Far from the fields of golden wheat
Grown by the men of the earth,
Past the mountains of silver snow
Where cold wind is ones only comfort...
Is The Kingdom of Gilted Bone.
The kingdom, secluded from the world,
Have been met by many mortal eyes
But few tongues can recount it's morbid beauty.
For the sight of alabaster walls decorated by skulls,
Archways of carved spinal columns,
And of ivory colmuns against ashen dirt...
Have become the last they ever see.
The moment they enter the kingdom,
They are no longer the person they are in life,
Or the very Bone that decorate the halls.
Shared only by the hollows of past victims,
And one other prisoner...
So thin they might as well be the skeltons that create their captures throne.
It festers inside the soul,
Poisoning the sanity of those imprisoned.
They know now...what must be done;
But the only way for it to end...to truly end...
would I know what the kingdom could look like,
Only that one's suffering ends in Death.
What that Kingdom of Gilted Bone does;
The true Death is of the person they once were before...
Before the silent screams of souls in times long ago...
Before they had tasted the flesh of their brethern...
Before the Kingdom of Gilted Bone...