We sit idle upon our thrones, taking

in our wretched domain. It's humor-

ous how they scurry about as if it 

mattered, running faster and fast-

er, pain and anguish and rust.

      How comical.

We waltz in our towers, bricks of

purpose and praise, high above

the common, and we cry:

    Let them eat cake.

 as

 we

 devour

 our

 own 

 ashes