Waking the spirit of the bones,
Which I have given a lovely home,
On a string around my neck,
Freeing them from hell and heck,
And a single dirty speck.
From four different men each bone came,
Experienced men in the life game.
The first one died in bloody war,
Witness to the loss and gore,
Fell as both his legs went sore,
No walking or talking forever more.
The second lived a nice long life,
Loving children, loving wife,
But never rich and always poor,
Was laughed at for the rags he wore.
He watched as sickness took his child,
Took his wife and spread like wild,
Until he was the last one left,
Alone, old, and bereft.
The third belonged to noble king,
Whose praise people would ever sing,
For wisdom, care, and understanding,
But renown isn’t everything.
Soon the king became corrupt,
And death upon him so abrupt,
A heart attack in the night,
Or so they say in fear and spite.
The fourth a young and gallant lad,
Could simply not escape the bad,
A fair young love once he had,
Now unrequited, and ever sad.
He fell into a deep depression,
Due to the unhealthy obsession,
Leading him to further regression,
Never to escape oppression.
And then his fragile mind caved in.
Try as he might he could not win,
Gave in to the darkest sin,
Chose to wear the demon’s skin.