When we form a microcosm
Underneath the sheets
I am your peasant people
You give me the word kind
Little thing
I do not give you the word tyrant
Although
You were already wearing
Blindly
The crown I had given you
Kissing the brow
Granting mute fealty
Under an unrelenting sun
Out in a wheat field
Heart blistered
But a king's got to eat
Even if he doesn't know where the bread comes from

Do you still
Not understand love?