He sits there on his throne of anger
With a small smirk he reveals his gruesome power
As he slowly stands, he starts to move with grace
He saunters slowly, Oh how he is our king
He is the dark outsider, the dark hunter
While we, the followers, are the hunted
But why does our king do nothing to the hunted?
With his beauty he grows impatient with us as we fuel his anger
But he is nothing now, a fractious being that is no longer a hunter
He circles now slowly, revealing his venomous power
He is our king
Oh but what charm he has will all of his grace
He schemes against us, dispelling his useless grace
With his dark schemes, he will become a hunter
And us, the martyrs, to our king
He remembers our betrayal to him, with anger
Anger brings forth his chaos, his own power
And our king shall become a hunter
Our king shall bring forth more hunters
With one fractious smile his hands will dance with graceful
Flames, fire that is infused with his chaotic power
We will become powerless and hunted
We shall show our fear while he shows his anger
And he shall strike us but we will not fight back for he is our king
Once his battle is done, our king will have only a shambled kingdom
His bloody throne will become the throne of a hunter
Our king will finally rest, anger-less
The demon within him falls down from his chaotic grace
Our king has fallen without power
Without a shed of grace, our king falls down powerless
Bowing down to the fallen king, we rejoice in silence
We are no longer the hunted nor is our king the hunter
