My, what a marvelous evening it was when Hell began to shake,
All those trembling little sinners clutching morals they could fake.
Humans — such delightful cattle — always begging to be pure,
Yet every one of them arrived here by a vice they’d die to cure.
And you, dear Charlie, darling dove, with your halo made of thread,
Tried to stitch a world of mercy from the bones of all the dead.
You sang of hope to butchers, offered grace to every fiend,
But sin is such a loyal friend — far more than you had dreamed.
I laughed, of course — politely — at your trembling little plea,
For nothing’s more amusing than a sinner preaching purity.
You gathered thieves and monsters, wrapped them in your gentle light,
As if a hug could drown the screams they whispered in the night.
But oh… how the static rose when you defied me to my face,
Your voice so soft, your hands so steady, trembling with misplaced grace.
You begged me not to take the throne, not to let the kingdom fall,
But darling, I’ve always loved a stage — and this was quite the curtain call.
And then — ah, forgive me — the mask slipped just a bit,
A crack of something feral where the gentleman should sit.
A hunger older than your father’s throne began to hum,
A rhythm in my ribs that whispered, *take it… take it… take it…*
And oh, how sweet the silence when your choir came undone.
The sinners bowed, the angels fled, your precious dream dissolved in flame,
And every voice that once adored you choked while whispering my name.
Your hotel crumbled beautifully, a monument to failed intent,
And still you reached toward me — foolish, fragile, innocent.
I mocked your hope, your human heart, the softness you mistook for strength,
For humans always cling to dreams that rot at arm’s length.
They preach of love, of second chances, of redemption’s gentle kiss,
Yet every one of them has drowned someone to climb out of the abyss.
And when you fell before me, wings of mercy torn apart,
I felt a tremor — faint, unwelcome — somewhere deep within my heart.
Not guilt, not grief, not sympathy — those trinkets never suited me —
But something like a shadow of the man I used to be.
A flicker of humanity, a ghost behind a static grin,
Mocking me for mocking you, a sin that circles back again.
It whispered through the carnage, through the crown upon my head,
That even kings of chaos fear the quiet of the dead.
But I silenced it — oh, swiftly — with a smile sharp and wide,
For feral things are easier to tame when you keep them locked inside.
And now I rule this kingdom, every soul obeys my call,
Yet the only thing that haunts me still
is the way you looked
before the fall.
