Far, far away
In the land of the ******,
Sat a man on a throne
With a crown in his hand.
He dares not wear it,
He fears for his life.
For he know that his bloodline
Is of violent strife.
But he keeps getting pushed,
And told that he must,
For the people need rules,
And laws covered in dust.
He tells them than 'no,
I am not for this job,
Find another, who's weaker-
His life of him rob.'
But the people persist,
And therefore, in the end,
The man puts the crown on,
To kinghood ascends.
He lived in that land
Ruling over the ******,
But his time's at an end
I have the upper hand.
I come to him at night,
And whisper in his ear,
I tell him of things
That one should never hear.
And so, this new king,
With a crown on his head
Knew he would not survive
Whispers of the dead.
I shall greet him tomorrow
Where his kindred are banned
And together we'll rule
In the land of the ******.
I don't even know.
