The king sat in his castle keep
And watched the world a-flame.
He called his courtiers one by one,
Who could he find to blame?
 
He knew he was a mighty king,
He knew his word was law.
He knew his people lived in fear,
He could not show a flaw.
 
And so he shot his ministers,
He shot them one by one.
Then as the final shot rang out
He thought of what he'd done.
 
His armies had been sacrificed,
His country had been lost.
So next he shot his generals;
A king could not be crossed.
 
His churchmen had all prayed to God,
A pious, sacred lot.
But God had chosen not to hear -
They were the next ones shot!
 
And now the king sat silently,
He needed some advice.
He put his hand inside his robe
And found his loaded dice.
 
The odds were Yes, the evens No,
What was there to discuss?
And now,at last, they all were dead -
He'd always planned it thus.