The King of Splinters

The King of Splinters Windom. Earle. Chessboard. Scalpel. The wife. The lodge. The owl. The trap. He carved his name into the pine — He drew the map. He drew the line. Blue rose. Black fire. White horse. The doppelgänger at the door. He whispered to the static screen — "You are not real. You are not clean." The king of splinters. The queen of knives. He wore the face of a thousand lies. He walked the woods. He ate the light. He kissed the darkness. He held it tight. Cooper. Cooper. Cooper. Dead. The words were burning in his head. He built a trap of pure desire — And fed the world to his own fire. The lodge is hungry. The lodge is deep. The lodge is where the dreamers sleep. He cut the vein. He drank the black. There is no turning. No turning back. Windom! Windom! Windom! Scream! He tore the fabric of the dream! Windom! Windom! Windom! Fall! He built his kingdom — lost it all! The chessboard burns! The pieces bleed! He sowed the terror — grew the seed! Windom! Windom! Windom! Gone — The madness lingers. Carries on. The wife. The knife. The lodge. The lie. He watched her through the corner of his eye. He wore her skin. He wore her name. He played the game. He played the game. The black bark. The blue flame. The man who was not quite the same. He cut the wire. He cut the thread. He raised the monster from the dead. There is no Windom. There is no Earle. There is no face behind the curl. The lodge ate him. The lodge ate all. He answered when he heard the call. He thought he was the hunter — but He was the hunted. He was the cut. He was the wound that never heals — The splinter in the spinning wheel. Windom! Windom! Windom! Scream! He tore the fabric of the dream! Windom! Windom! Windom! Fall! He built his kingdom — lost it all! The chessboard burns! The pieces bleed! He sowed the terror — grew the seed! Windom! Windom! Windom! Gone — The madness lingers. Carries on. Windom... Windom... Windom... The lodge is hungry... The lodge is hungry... Fire... walk with me...