My love, the king by any other name a pissoir
You, my love tower over them all
They are but vermin beneath your heels
They are monkeys

Suit them, frame them to your own vision
But do not let one false word of mockery
Seep through to your vast heart

I have seen you from close and afar and your worth
Far exceeds your height, your width
The depth of your sorrow

Oh, willful outcast, doth thou not see the light of our love
Our linked fortunes, our hearts melded together
Into one fine golden braided finery

They listen to the music of idiots and amuse themselves
With the sordid miseries of their businesses
They are not the things of angels
Nor of any higher outpost that humanity might aspire to

Your loathsome vomitous businessman king
Is of the lowest order
His advisors crumbling mockeries
Of education driven by avarice

My love, dress them in the suits of mockery
And in their advanced state of stupidity and senility
Burn and destroy them so their ashes might join the compost
Which they so much deserve

If justice on this Earth be fleeting
Let us for once hear the weeping
And the braying of the businessman king

Let them be the the orangutans they are
And set them blazing from the chandelier for all to see
Hanging from the ceiling by their ridiculous chains
And petticoats which you will have them wear
Under the guise of costumic buffoonery

He who underestimates in time
Is bound to find the truth sublime and hollow
Lie upon the grates of systemic disorder
Businessmen, you're not worth ****ting on