Ichor bleeds from the sky,

Like a freshly wounded

Battlefield.

It channels it's way to a man's skin,

Imbibes into his veins,

Defies his valves,

And forges him golden.

Bordering existences gasp.

How can a man so gleaming and paragon 

Live among Mankind?

He's not human, he's our God.

He is who is desired

By the genuine and the fraud.

But the fault in everyone's minds

Is that no one recalls

That he wasn't bestowed,

But poisoned with ichor.

It burns his blood vessels

Slowly,

Slowly,

Slowly until he disintegrates.

And by the time he's gone,

Another Man of Gold has been made

Unready for the succession.