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