My king rules a cacti
His subject is as prickly as he
He goes on wars every night and day
He calls his enemy as "me".

The reason he is dead
Isn't tyranny or hate
And it isn't the fall of monarchy
I assure thee so;
My king lies dead
Of his saddened ill fate
He planted a tree and as true it can be
It grew legs and walked out of the door

What good is a king,
If he can't love anything
As little as a tree and not any more.