Listen up, King

I'm going to tell you something.

So sit down and shut your face.

When was the last time you were sure of anything you said or believed in?

I'm not going to repeat myself.

The Gods forbid that I should become your concious of all things.

You're narrowminded. And ignorant.

From the second we parted we started our own paths,

yours laid out much earlier by three decievers,

one yearning to find an equal,

one who pushed you to your limit for his own means,

and one who played the fool from the very beginning.

Yes, ignorance is bliss.

How's it feel to be the one controlled?

You marched to their commands

and fight their wars like a broken boy solider,

because it's the honorable thing to do,

and me,

your ever-loyal horse,

cannot help but to be dragged into this mess,

this beautiful disaster,

set up to be knocked down.

Despite what you've come to believe, King, there is no honor in war.

Just those who kill and are killed.

I have no time for heros, seeing that I'm neither here nor there.

You're a martyr, King, a martyr in hero's clothes, not a title you want to pursue,

playing their board, a pawn in their games.

You try seeing the world with those eyes of mine you borrow.

Maybe a shift could do your so-called 20/20 some good.

Both our paths have seperated.

I strived to seek the truth and you felt content to be fed lies.

Lies hurt you most in the end.

And for the longest time I put up with it and tried to lessen the load of my host only to be thrown to the pit.

And I can only watch as you let yourself be controlled.

You call me monster.

I call you partner.

Perhaps you can honestly be called a king.

King of Martyrs.