Here I sit, on my throne, down these porcelain halls.
Casting echoes loud enough; for them to deafen all.
Bellows, roars, cries of pain; fearing big and small.
Miasma; deadly; skulks unseen; forth, at a creeping crawl.
Killing plants and warping wood, discouraging them all.
From stepping in to take my crown; from planning my down—fall.
Here I sit still all alone, down these porcelain halls.
