Deep beneath the shifting sand, Where silent centuries command, In chambers choked with dust and gold, A dark and ancient grief is told. Wrapped in linen, sealed in stone, The pharaoh keeps his watch alone.
But greed will pry where gods have slept, And break the vows the spirits kept. A chisel strike, a shattered seal, Unlocks a wrath the living feel. For on the wall, in shadowed script, A warning guards the sacred crypt:
\"Let those who dare disturb this rest, Be cursed in mind, in throat, in chest. The wings of death shall surely find The foolish souls they leave behind.\"
Now footsteps echo, shadows crawl, A phantom chill invades the hall. The torchlight flickers, dies away, As midnight swallows up the day. An ancient breath, a shifting shroud— The silent dead now speak aloud.
No lock can hold, no wall can stay The vengeance rising from the clay. For gold is fleeting, flesh must rot, But pharaohs never are forgot. And those who stole his quiet sleep, Are secrets now the desert keeps.