A lifeless guardsman
A construct security
An empty suit of arms
Dragging the disgusting mass of flesh
And blood, breathing, inhaling
Disturbing the stillness of the tomb that is
The throne room
And on the plain chair
The makeshift throne
His majesty, the lich
Ruling long into death
Dead muscles held aloft by some
Thaumaturgic act
And skin shrunk to see the outlines of the bones
A shoulder stiffens
Reaches out
And leather skin unfolds and rattles
Indicating the catacombs
Without words
The sentence is carried
And the live prisoner is taken
To join the royalty
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