Every morning , the King goes into his stable , looking for a horse to ride.
A fast horse? A gentle mare? A demon phantom gypsy horse with dark mane and
Bored with War and Empire, the King seeks diversion amongst his court, his entourage of
pay-per-view entertainers, the fabulous, the musical, the genius of science and the literary gods.
Ride that horse George. Beat it with your whip. Ride, ride, ride, Exhaust your miscast talents, frothing, unsatiate. Ignore the war, the suffering , the pain. Empire is a horse to ride, ride, ride.
Collect the mares
And place them in a stable.
Ride them when you're able.
Put a bit into the Stallion
Ride him, The battalion
Is your gelded horse
A multitude of horses
Awaiting your whim
Your dim recollection
Of what it is to win.