All your armies
Weapons and hatred
All your schemes and conquests
All your cities and decrees
Every single dream of empire
Is lost
Empty as a helm amidst your ruins
The broken pieces of which don’t quite add together
A catalogue of failure neatly stacked
In the storeroom of the museum
Forgotten like your names and hopes
Gathering dust like your ambition
Lying still and cold on disinterested shelves
While every night we shut down early
Turn off the lights and whisper as we leave
Was it worth it?