Tuesday, 19 January 2010

Death to the King

Wasn't it lovely when people would sing,
Everyone would shout death to the king,
We'd all come out and march down the street,
Upon the palace gates we would then beat,
When the gate was down we went inside,
We caught him asleep he couldn't hide,
We dragged him down to the guillotine,
He kept shouting, "I am the King",
We strapped him down, everything grew quiet,
The king was scared, he couldn't hide it,
The blade slid smoothly through his neck,
His blood splashed down onto the deck,
We buried him without a casket,
But there lay his head, still in the basket.

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