Hollow Branches - Thrones Split By Root

They felled the oak to raise their temples, They dammed the stream to crown their kings. In smoke and glass the old gods perished, Buried beneath their iron hymns. Civilization gnawed the root, Crucified the fields with stone. But bones remember—soil remembers, Every silence holds a throne. But the earth does not forget, But the rot does not forgive. When the cities choke and die, The old gods rise through ruin’s breath. Roots split the tombs of empire, Ash drifts thick on every crown. From marrow, moss, and shattered idols, The nameless voices call them down. Oaths in bark, carved by blood, Cairns of stone, lit by bone. The sky cracks open, rivers roar, The forgotten breathe again. The old gods walk where kingdoms rot, In famine’s breath, in plague’s embrace. No temples stand, no prayers remain, Only the hunger of the earth reclaimed. In the blackened breath of collapse, They stride from the dust of our sins. We crowned ourselves gods of decay, But rot wears the crown again.