Behind Every King Poem by Clesec Swahn

They say my heart is cold as ice
That my silver tongue is not so nice
And I'll admit that often times
My soul is black as charcoal mines

But still I wonder where you'd be
Without a friend the likes of me
Call me cold and call me cunning
But don't you see your enemies running

And your throne is gilded in the finest gold
But only because my soul was sold
Its true my methods may make you squirm
Make you sick and make you learn

So my simple king
Do not worry your simple head
With all this sad and dreary dread
I'll play the games as I always do
I'll do it for none.....none but you