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In a courtyard of charnel stone
Through the doors of blackened iron
A soiled hourglass sits in a ruined sepulcher

As you stare past me with blinded eyes
Deaf to the echoes of your footsteps
As you smash the glass on the ichor rock

Now you; who chose this bitter cup
And you; who would drink deep
From Narcissus' pool
Crawl into the yawning grave
That awaits

And on your tombstone I shall inscribe:
"Here lies the tyrant, that thought only of themselves"

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