by Nick Gisburne
It pleases me to see your puzzled face
A hint of fear, an inkling of despair
I come to claim your throne, to take your place
A crooked, cold cadaver, lost in prayer
Your ignorant rejection of my ways
Means nothing to this long-forsaken son
The sycophantic souls who sing your praise
Will pledge their lives to me when all is done
Your powers, once formidable, collapse
Admit that you have little left to lose
A legacy of infamy, perhaps
A scattering of stories, to amuse
Your faded generation speaks no more
A bolder breed of tyrant takes the floor
