The king, almighty
Grips the throne tightly,
Observers around him cleanly;
He in hearts of heart, a devil
and surely will,
Stamp his absolute on the realm and pedestal
A man of close circle,
knows the leader of huddle
is his biggest hurdle;
All want more share and power
and know once , gone their giver
Whatever his, becomes theirs
And the one most aware
of this thought of conspire
Is the king, our very sire;
For the road in their plan
was taken by the man
Ages before they even were a part of clan
Every man, has his group
and all join their troupe,
In the sole hopes, once their leader takes the seat
The game, they can, repeat
And the king being king,
makes the bullets sing
and most ambitious are arranged with a sting
The population may be poor
The population may be rich
Whatever it is,
Saying that and this,
with the candy and the stick,
they're kept busy and thick
The sole gameplay,
of all who closely stay,
is to arm in silence
and go for ways short, violent
either go for the head
or go silent with a mead
The king, he seeks,
The men around, hide,
And all meanwhile pray,
The masses stay off play
For their structures are of straw
And a single spark
And none will stand
The issue is, they understand,
and masses don't
At least, not till now
