Obliterating 'I'

How frail is this mountain
Upon which our stronghold stands?
Were but one stone to shift
All would subside to naught
When the walls lie in ruin around you
Cursed the foul earth that bore you
Withering among the rocks
Rending and devouring flesh of your own
When flames scorch fields and claw at your door
Bereft of hope, descending
Devolving to beast, no other will you spare

Lie in the torrent of embers
Draw deep the breath of pestilence

Grow as blight on the living
Hone, teeth to bone