Their eyes are empty and dried,
mirrors reflecting the nothing inside.

Their laughter echoes, hollow and thin,
as eerie shadows revel within.

Hoarding their gold, starving their soul,
power and control, their ultimate goal.

But kingdoms of greed will wither and rust,
and even the hollow return to dust.

And when their last ivory tower decays,
rotten within from years of malaise.

No wealth remains to buy their grace,
no hands reach out to mourn their place.

What is the point of their cruel, hollow game,
when no lips remain to whisper their name?