by Nick Gisburne
They come to claim the crown, to kill the king
The peasants, wild, revolting, bay for blood
Advancing to their nemesis, they sing
Of all who drowned, forsaken in the flood
His arrogance left everyone to die
While he, with boundless fortune, turned his back
Regard for those who loved him was a lie
Despair for those they lost is bleak and black
The punishment, the penalty, is swift
They separate the traitor from his tears
The severed head, now silent, is a gift
They hurl it from the palace to their peers
A king will never rule again, they vow
They wonder what will soothe their sorrow now
