They had a variety of mastiff.
They were the kings' cloth.
One coin to the fountain
And their heads split clean off.
No time for the weary.
No souls for the sick few.
Burned time for the hungry.
Famine ready to serve new.
Host mortals let not praise
and the sovereign control the flood.
Slip foul to the ears of servants.
But, only thy hands spill the blood.
Note the trials of the jester.
Fear the ruling through the land.
Break the staff handed in honor
to feel the death evade from ones hand.
Of kingly versus pestilence.
Laugh not at the silent song.
When mighty sward hath fallen,
thy day will not be long.
