Death does accompany this man, adherent, though, not friend. A tool at times, but never loved, a means to bitter end.
There is a wall on Coruscant, black marble, smooth and cold.
There is a wall on Coruscant, two thousand steps, all told.
There is a wall on Coruscant, framed by eternal flames.
There is a wall on Coruscant that bears a million names.
A million names cut into stone, a million men are dead.
A single name is missing there, just one remains unread.
Two thousand steps he walks along, to pay his last respects.
The sole survivor, he's the one that Death always rejects.
He parts the masses milling there, the gawkers drawing back,
The mourners he just passes by, a wraith clad all in black.
The memories that haunt their minds, they follow in his wake,
Reflections staring from the stone, they paid for pride's mistake.
He cannot say he grieves for all, some did deserve no less.
But countless lives were squandered there, the Emp'ror to impress.
He halts where