Dead Kings
Like symbols written in fleece on the wall,
Or blood from my cut palm shook in your grasp,
Brothers’ eternal from spring time to fall,
A promise to keep till the last.
We waited to seat on thrones of the dead,
Their amber red crowns on skeleton heads.
Commanded by the tongue less, deaf and the blind.
Men who committed any old crime.
Words they would speak, kisses on cheeks,
And gold would fall heavy timely and meek.
Ages of ancient, times long ago,
Lessons we\'ve learnt, buried below.
Covered with tape, colored in red.
Kings of these days, should simply stay dead.