woensdag 4 januari 2012

Cold Throne

As stormy clouds make raindrops fall
The king sits alone in his empty hall
The thunder cracks loudly after the lightning struck home,
But the king sits alone is his dark and empty dome

The crown on his head, made of bronze, silver and gold,
Rests heavy on his head, for the king is weak and old.
But never will he surrender, all left to him is his will.
When the walls crumble around him, the king will sit there, still...

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