I might have been King
were it not for that thing,
the noose,
nice and stretched, loose around my neck,
hangs well with Saint Christopher
and an old wedding ring.

I might have been King with the baubles and bling and a throne to sit on, I would have looked good on that but that wasn't to be, paupers like me queue up down the churchyard and the dead underground think that their lives are so hard, it's not good to be judgemental though when you've only got a bowl of lentils to see you through the day, woe to the man who scuppered the plan who thought up the plan to disinherit this man and woe to him too, I get this every time I kiss the midnight goodbye,
'up yours', says the King with his crown full of bling, my position's secure of that I am sure, well he can ******* too.