Wrists of Kings

Now our blood
Travels though the
Veins of our
HistroyIt bursts forth them
Boiling black
Coulds from the wrists of kings
The shadow
Lengthens as
Time draws on its tendils
Creep into mythic cracks
Blending with the light of day
We see itNow before us
But even so we cannot
Read the lies between the lines
Bring them nothing
They haveMade its way
The nights