The court jester dances for you alone.
Cracking smiles for the royal funny bone.
Paranoia picnicking on your brain,
For fear someone will do to you the same.
So I close my eyes and fantasize
Dirty peasants polishing your demise;
Brutus pouring wine for the dinner guests.
And this, at last, Laying your soul to rest.
Now the queen is forced to bare skin for me,
And her backside explored improperly.
And the princess, tied down, will soon follow
As soon as she capitulates to swallow
The distasteful plebeian atmosphere
Of mutiny and revolution cheers.
But, first we must elope in Atlantis
With the dead are new born, a lot like us.
The queen is dead!
God let us, now be forever wed.
Take what’s yours,
Leave your friends, open new doors.
Sitting on my newly acquired thrown,
I watch elders crippling from the bone.
Fecal matter floating down city streets
Where the protestants hold clandestine meets.
Guillotines are chopping off pagans’ heads,
Famined children still have yet, to be fed.
But, I cannot help them. I’m just a tool
For the Roman Catholics and their jewels.
Hey now, I like this role,
I do nothing and I’m in control.
Bow now and kiss my cheek,
Bathing in coin, I laugh at the meek.
© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers
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