Well, where has Lear’s fool gone?
He’s simply disappeared from the plot.
Some say that he still walks on,
But I heard that he was left to rot.

A sparrow on the grapevine told me
That he perished by old rival’s hand
Old hatred blinded him so he could not see
As he descended into a darker land.

His rival struck him in the dark of the night
He took the Fool down without a sound
And pulled the body out of sight
He faded into shadows just before the guard could complete his round.

And now Lear’s poor Fool rests underneath an ash tree
His spirit whispering “Never again will a rhyme come from me.”