The King

The King is Dead
Long Live the King
From his ashes
a new one rises
maybe a dozen or two

Some within the blankets
Some from with out
all aspirants to the throne
Hoping to wear new crowns
fools and knaves

Who are you
to think you can do
better than him
who has gone to dzahim
purgatory before hell

Or better than those
who wait at the threshold
of their own eden
Sunshiny beyond
a promised land

No matter, the King
lives in Bangor
the other one left
the building
Some are just queens

there is no king
underground
except those self-crowned
bye bye no one's pie
It belongs to all
Owned by one.