A Tyrant I am,
I perch on my throne
And prop my feet upon a tangible euphoria.
I heed as my sheep file out before me,
Only to be rammed just hard enough to plummet into the inky sky.
I wheeze and laugh and wheeze
As I witness the cruelty of a tyrant named Myrnin.
Black in the distance.
A merchant I am,
Living in a poppy seed
And selling wool to the sheep;
Sheep, with wide warning eyes.
Ah, but there shan’t be fear in my Kingdom
He comes to visit,
Attempting to engulf me,
Black, I won’t let him win.
A thief I am,
I do what I must to stay alive.
Tonight I dine upon poppy seeds,
Stripped away from the merchant.
The last sheep falls forth into the sky
Whilst calling my name.
Too late my poor sheep,
He is here, he has one.
Black, all around.