wet sentinel
Life is quite comfortable when you're sitting on a throne.
All you need in front of your eyes –
Food, entertainment, and the
undying love of your people.
It's quite simple resting here atop the grand arena,
the gathering of life – of fun, of trust.
Truly, they adore me.
Adore me!
As much as I adore the sight.
Fill another chalice with divine liquid, sent by Liber himself,
as we feast on the bread made from Ceres' gifts…
The only thing left to oversee is the spectacle beneath my feet.
The sandy flooring flows with cheer, dense in its atmosphere.
There's really not much more to life than this.
Hah, life – and me, the one that chooses!
I will admit, the past few days have been quite uneventful,
unappreciative, devoid of standard.
This one's looking to be quite the bloodbath!
Throwing knives around, soiling sweated clothes,
bleeding into puddles of tears…
Oh! And there goes the arm.
However long has it been since I enjoyed myself like this,
yet away from the throne – the crowd?
The days of wrists deciding fate
have marred my life for many a day.
Yet who am I to complain?
The view from here is grand after all.
As am I, the one to decide on life.
Extend the arm
(the breathless bodies behold my throne)
hold it in place
(the men in seats hold in their breaths)
until at last
(the right is mine to choose who dies)
I turn its face
(an uproar of screams erupts)
And now, they only think of me.
Me alone.
Life is only comfortable when you stand on the top alone.
devout swallow
marsh jolt
untold chasm
kind perch