I see the casket and the mask inside,

Held within the young sleeper’s bloody hands.

How can kings pick the choice of suicide

When they have control of so many lands?

Only a grin given, no pain in face,

To the people while they praised the adored.

The providers of joy in any place

Yet their one wish is to fall on their sword.

They are only facades all must remove.                        

A light is needed to show what’s hidden.

Suffering silently we must refuse,

Be you royalty, peasants, or children.

Because some of us walked near the cliff’s end.

All of us must leave comfort for a friend.