by Nick Gisburne
They call me Mister Julius, the fool
Preposterous pretender to the throne
I stumble, tumble, mumble, dance and drool
I grovel for a biscuit, or a bone
Perhaps you see no light within these eyes
But shadows are a mystery, a screen
A fool, a clown, a darling of disguise
Will cover what he knows must not be seen
I wonder, will you understand the joke?
My silly little pantomime, revealed
When you who mocked my mind begin to choke
On secrets in a supper dish, concealed
A gift, from Mister Julius, your king
A death, for you, a fool, a simple thing
