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The scattered pages of a book by the sea |
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Held by the sand, washed by the waves |
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A shadow forms |
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Cast by a cloud |
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Skimming by |
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As eyes on the past |
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But the rising tide absorbs them |
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Effortlessly claiming |
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They told of one who tired of all |
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Singing "Praise him, praise him" |
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"We heed not flatterers" he cried |
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"By our command |
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Waters retreat |
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Show my power |
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Halt at my feet" |
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But the cause was lost, now cold winds blow |
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Far from the north |
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Overcast ranks advance |
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Fear of the storm |
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Accusing with rage and scorn |
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The waves surround the sinking throne |
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Singing "Crown him, crown him" |
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"Those who love |
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Our majesty |
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Show themselves" |
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All bent their knee |
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But he forced a smile even though his hopes |
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Lay dashed where offerings fell |
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Where they fell |
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"Nothing can my peace destroy |
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As long as none smile" |
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More opened ears and opened eyes |
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And soon they dared to laugh |
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See a little man with his face turning red |
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Though his story's often told you can tell he's dead |
