Steve Kimberley - The King

Worn out faces stare at us from edge to edge,
they call out to us, hail, hail..
but we arent any different from them,
we live, we breath, we struggle for love, truth and honesty.

In a land filled with poverty where only the strong survive,
you turn to me and in a desolate whisper,
you dare to tell me now that i cannot run my country..
well i have only few words to spare for you, As If.

The people still calling throw themselves at my feet,
the wagon beneath me tramples them immediately
but what am i to do? maybe you are right, maybe i can't.
But i will persist for i am a god among insects.

I am to be cherished, worshipped, even have blood spilled for me,
it is in my interest, in my worth, in my right!
For i am the king today and you shall not interrupt my plight.
In these baron wastelands, i am not a murderer.

But instead, look at me as a friend, but a superior, for i am the king.
I sleep at night in my four postered bed, happy as a mouse,
But i sleep alone at night
without my whimpering spouse.

Such is the life of the rich and famous
but whats its all for? a poor and wasted country
Lies bound upon my chest, but i wont stop killing
Until im laid to rest

Steve Kimberley

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-king-3/