Our Good King Poem by Cody Simpson

We gave him a crown,
And with nary a frown,
He took up the golden sceptre.
His robe was tattered,
But that hardly mattered,
For he was channeling a spectre.

He was a false king;
His jesters did not sing,
For the kingdom was full of sorrow.
The ghosts of subjects saw
The serfs within his maw;
What shall be the doctrine tomorrow?

“Oaf! ” those fools will say.
“No, he knows the way, ”
From others, who know national pride.
“Give him some rope,
And the last rays of hope,
And he’ll be happy to plow the way wide.”

Gather the party together,
Bid farewell to warm weather,
And send the troops to the snowy North.
Or, no, on second thought,
Away, to where oil’s bought:
Our black gold shall pour forth.

Look not over yonder at the fields of dead.
See not, on the horizon, where you are led.
Death, the Void, shall be our untimely end.
Senectus has its way with youth,
There is and never will be truth,
And both are among those the king will rend.

The king, the wise, the conqueror,
Has become power’s great usurper.
This odious malefactor is now a statesman.
There is an Empire stretching
To all the peoples now kvetching,
And I suspect that it’s nearly Roman.