The Ballad of the Tyrant

The tyranny of Boulderoak the knavery of Dor
the flat out death at Zonderzee
the corpses on the floor

The scepter of the ruler in a leaden box of fire
you can’t describe the way the people
listen to the liar

If one soul shout they all shout if one soul yells they yell
but if one soul suddenly sang
they’d send that soul to Hell

The air is fogged with extra noise the ears are clogged with ice
I can’t imagine what their hearts are like
but bungalows for mice

If one tells truth here eyes go wild arms wave feet kick
that person might as well be stoned
death less painful less thick

The one-eyed man is king here except he’s put to death
the tyrant can’t let anyone who sees
take a single breath

The night falls they’re all eyeless voiceless heartless cold
the gold chair the tyrant sits on
keeps their poor souls sold

Kill the tyrant hang him by his feet or rip his head off
he’d stand back up and grow it back
and be like Boris Karloff

The people make the tyrant bold the people keep him strong
until they change he’ll keep them down
and bang them like a gong

9/10/2005 (from Stories Too Fiery to Sing Too Watery to Whisper)

Categories: Poems

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