Crimson Dance on an iron floor.
Hail to the king who commands the horde.
Pleasure, permutations, and death for the grunts.
One after another, piled by the bunch.
Luck, chance, fate, power.
Down look the knights from their ivory towers.
Swords rush to defend the crown.
Without divine rule, the world tumbles down.
As AJ Thinks 
I am currently stumped