Dyscarnate Grinding Down The Gears
"Grind down!"
Eternally loyal to the dynasty, the driving force behind a prodigal empire. Defending its honour to the final breath, banishing all traitors with no regrets. Adhering to the cries of its master's desires. Poised, diligent and standing tall. Sacrificing all at its beck and call. Kneel and obey for its every need. No gratitude expressed from this mortal sin, spreading, conquering with expendable kin. Total domination - its only persistence. Assuming absolute over its wretched existence. Leaders outweigh followers, decisiveness fails. The message lost in whisper- chaos prevails
Mass hordes of tyrants command a sparse minority, sparing the efficient priority. Grinding down the gears of the machine, wasting wealth on maggots unseen. Living to serve the sole purpose - terminal and decaying. Exhausting the only resource. Working slaves to death, ruling by force
Everyone must suffer. It can just defraud, to satisfy its hunger for an undeserved reward
Leeching off itself, then assuming rapid assistance, expecting sympathy, guidance and unquestioned adherence. Comparative to an infant it must be spoon fed, to squander it all and seek sustenance again, and again, and again, and again