The Tyrant Poem by Daegonius Bonapartea

blessedly said he, the sqire of the third tower; heed the call of the powerful king methisudia; all praise is his. the entire town cried out his name and bowed before his empowering aura. the king came to the pedastal and claimed, my people, my people i come to you today as a blessing, and an offering of glad tidings for all peace through the land; right before his last word a flock of birds came by and dropped baked stones over him; the king lie dead in an instance and the people cheered; but for some reason the squire sat with a stray face.