You would think It must be easy to be a chef around here,
But otherwise you may find my crimes bring a bloody tear,
Discarded flesh is chopped aside when purpose has gone astray,
My workers toil with every day discarded as I say,
Shadows of blight, corruption, disease,
Devour our souls with prevalent ease,
At dawn I pondered with a whimsical will about the nature bestowed to mankind.
For I would find, ‘tis it a simple thing,
To climb to the top, beneath me, the ladder I swing,
Begotten is desolation to those who climb up behind,
For a pile of gold and jewels I find,
But do I mind, those below me must suffer?
Were my actions considerably, merely that kind?
I stutter, to my answer awaiting,
My mouth is stiff as is if a wound was gaping
But alas not an answer does cometh aloud.
As I sit on my throne of skulls, I realize, for I am a ruler of none.
Butchered are the servants I left in the mud,
King of the bones, and king of the flood,
They call me the deli of corporate cold blood,
On my way to the top I left bodies behind,
soaked with betrayal from my brutal tide.
Was it worth all this sin to rise to the top?
The corruption, misdeeds, but only a dewdrop,
My crimes would bring a bloody tear,
And yet they say, “It must be so easy to be a chef around here”.