Flood of the Crownless

They rise with banners, clean and high,
Their voices sharp against the sky.
With sacred words, they pave the way,
Yet shadows gather where they pray.

They speak of freedom, scream of right,
But feast in rooms without the light.
Each vow a veil, each creed a guise,
They burn the truth behind their eyes.

You stood alone, you saw the crack,
But they rewrote the past you lacked.
A thousand hands, one polished blade,
To carve the silence you obeyed.

They march through hallowed halls, through depths profound,
With lofty ideals, swearing they’ll never bow down.
Yet they have read your hunger, they have traced your fear,
And with those chains, they’ll break your stride—
Till on your knees, your silence redefined.
Drowned in the flood of their collusion,
A willing hand in the filth you once defied.

You bore the weight of golden lies,
Your name erased where justice dies.
But still you breathe, though barely seen,
A whisper caught in their machine.

Do you still dream of what you lost?
Or count the cost beneath the frost?
The flood will rise, and you may drown,
Or tear the whole illusion down.

They march through hallowed halls, through depths profound,
With gilded myths, they tighten every bound.
But in your breath, a spark survives—
A flare that crawls through broken ties.
You are the noise beneath their pride,
The ghost that walks where truth still hides.
A tide reborn from all they tried
To crush beneath the lies they prized.