Crimes of The Line
How little is the giant who stands before me and calls himself the king?
How truly sad is the kingdom under the weight of his once noble line?
And how can you hold your head up and claim your part of this beautiful thing
when each of you know that what stands before you is just another damn lie?
How weary the people once proud who kneel under the weight of his fist?
How scorched and barren become the verdant hills of these once glorious lands?
And how can a kingdom last where what once was won honorably in the list
now is bought and sold, passing like gold, between greedy political hands?
How can they stand tall and stare in the mirror at the image which deceives?
How can they choose to ignore the words the wisest councilors to them bring?
And how can a king truly rule them if not a single one still believes?
On this night we watch the kingdom fall, but still do they call “long live the king.”