Oh here I sit all alone
on my wibbly wobbly throne
no jesters, no jokers, no serfs around
no luck, no lady, no heart to be found
The crown on my head weighs more than lead
the heavy hem of my cloak
makes little frogs croak
Nothing but my own words to eat
nothing to wear for my blistery feet
nothing to brighten my miserable day
nothing to do but sleep the night away
And when daylight arrives
as it must again to wake me from slumber
I rub my weary eyes and wonder:
when and why did my might turn to dust?
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