The last bone: A corporate requiem in stone & shadows (Folk Rock)

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The Last Bone

He sharpened his grin on the edge of a deal,
A golden knife for the backs he’d peel.
"Promotions and power, it’s all just a game,"
Whispered the ghost of his father’s name.
The boardroom wolves howled, "Blood is the cost!"
He carved his way up, but never got lost—
Just a trail of names in the fine print dust,
And a starving dog he couldn’t trust.

"Cut the ties, cash the checks,
The higher you climb, the thinner your neck…"

Stone, stone, dragging him down,
The weight of the lies in his hollow crown.
Stone, stone, cold as his throne,
The dog’s at the door, but he’s dying alone…

His daughter asked, "What’s a dog’s final bite?
When the bones are gone, does it still fight?"
He choked on the answer, a rock in his chest,
A kidney of guilt, a lifetime compressed.
The phone rang silent, the office grew cold,
His leather chair cradled a stranger, he’s told.
"The pack needs new teeth," the elevator sighed,
As the parking-lot mutt crawled inside.

"Congratulations, Mr. Gray. The shareholders voted today.
Your golden knife’s now a relic on display.
The hound you fed? It learned to obey."

Stone, stone, dragging him down,
The weight of the world in his corporate shroud.
Stone, stone, ash in his veins,
The dog’s got his name… and it’s chewing the chains.

The last bone’s buried where the parking lot ends,
The knife’s in the gutter, the "friend" he called "friend".
The stone’s now a mountain, the dog’s now the wind…
And the cycle begins… again…

Eliot Rivers