All that glitters is not gold Midas sparingly slits his wrists The prophecy soon to be foretold An age of bronze achingly persists Doctors frantically rush to his aid Maids begin reaching the next of kin Relatives come to enact their charade The feast of wolves is ready to begin Treachery abounds as the master is tended Serving interests that are wholly their own Machinations sewn and knees bended Familial heads lain at an unseated throne The king lay dead in his blood soaked silk sending no riches for his household to adore determined to steal some treasure of their ilk Hounds lap their inheritance off of the floor