Why is the king crying crimson blood?
Highness cries of his iniquities inflicted—
By himself on the people who loved him
By himself on the people who trusted him
By himself on the people who worshiped him
By himself on the people who toiled for him
By himself on the people whose blood shed for him
By himself on the people who crowned his head!
So, why did his worship wait until the situation was rotten?
That one! It was his sycophant royalties
To them, the king was the king
Above the law, above his subjects
Above suffering, above death and disease
Above tradition or curses and taboos
Above education of his wretched subjects
Above mercy or grace
And most of all: Him—the king
Owner of all treasures, pleasures, and measures!
He is the king and must so remain!
So, why does the king cry now?
His people’s legs got numb from squatting on the king’s land
Their sweat depleted, and sugar levels around from the scorching blaze
Some lamented innocently flying prime bullets
That took careless men who walked on their way
Others said it was better an axe than a dozen for taxes
Yet others whose freedom died at least wanted to bury it.
Yet I heard in whispers
I heard rumors he had a boil in his head
Another in his heart!
Both swollen and ready to blast.
The king’s people broke loose, enraged,
Awoke like a lactating mother wild cat
All matching and chanting freedom songs
Vandalizing his kingdom, peace and treasures
That is why the king moans like a little hungry infant!
Waah! If this tale is true as you tell, then I agree.
Power is defenseless before an angry-hungry nation
There is nothing royal under impunity, bloodshed and mediocrity
Thirst for freedom can drain down a mighty mountain
A red-eyed wizard differs not from
A mourning royal king.
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I have to go and tell of what I heard you say!
