I am the observer, mortum incarnatum
I look down upon the world perched on a rooftop
The wind blows through my cloak
I observe the world as it carries on, feeding on the carrion
The flesh of their own, the flesh of their brothers, clenched in their hungry teeth
Power and glory is what the people seek

They can't think on their own, yet they perceive like they are alone
This kingdom isn't made of stone
This kingdom is made of flesh and bone
Built on the graves of those who have fallen before them
Masses of slaves waging war on themselves in the name of the conclave

Murderers, adulterers
Betraying one another
Brother turned against each other