Rat King (edit)

[Majestic Sun]

Life makes no sense
until you see the rat king, (Whos is this rat king? And why a rat?)
a circle of dread and ill-omen
our tails intertwined into a clock of death, (What is a clock of death? Elaborate?)
thirteen dedicated bits of rage
looking outward into the dark. (Why the dark? What does this mean?)
The accident of our kingdom
haunts the wise and hunts down
the peasant inside his television. (This is a weird image, I feel like peasant is associated with the middle ages and television is a technological achievement, why mix the two? This stanza doesn't work!)
We are the collective of your future,
dead or alive, we conceal
the hoax of your existence. (I'm getting 1984 vibes, was that intentional? I like it regardless.)

So this poem to be is about surveillance, something about being controlled by this rat king. An interesting concept but needs more clarity.