Praise be to thee
oh king of thieves
sitting upon your stolen throne
gilded with hated bones
your ring of death
and your incense rot
you have been remembered
your failed brush
there upon your wasted easle
yellowed canvas
oh blind fool
not for what you could have been
oh tyrrant; conqueror
impressions gone
burned to cinder
along with bridge and towers crumble
may we never be seen to repeat it
look upon that dusty throne
look upon the coward who called himself king
only ever a lowly thief
scrounging scraps
at masters doors