The Rising (4 / 4)

He stands upon a stage of fear and lies. A jester crowned by cheers he

does not earn. With every shout, the hopeful reason dies. And minds once

free no longer seek to learn. He speaks in riddles bent to serve his will.

A mirror cracked where truth must twist and bend. His boastful roar is echoed louder

still. By those who crave a leader, not a friend. He promises the

past both fake and grand. While pointing blame with every breath he takes.

The crowd obeys, too tired to understand. That freedom fails when conscience never

wakes. And thus he rises built on spiteful cheers. A king of