Hugmonster

Four Gods wait on the windowsill
Where once eight Gods did war and will
And if the Gods themselves may die
What does that say for you and I?

Now, Three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God’s blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule

When two Gods wait on the windowsill
The wick of the world is burning, still
But when one God in Triumph shouts
The candle of the world goes out.