A façade of bravado beneath the mask.
Their toil for chaos earns more
than their desire for the end.
They show their good for the wrong act—
good coins held back from true prosperity.
They themselves became the enemy,
and they are unaware.
Unaware of their folly,
unaware of their laughing coffins.
Rusted crowns keep shining;
no amount of blood shed
can restore the throne to glory.
The pig pen has risen into a castle,
and the old walls have become ruin.
Long live the pigs!
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