Coronets rest on a death's head mask No-one is safe while the curfew lasts But crusted orbs glitter, sceptres gleam While helmets of blood fill the screen
They look away And then they say: For the good of the land For the love of the man Standing alone sitting alone On the throne of the regal zone
Old limbs hang in the torture room While old kings hang in the portrait room Their noble eyes gaze on the uneasy dance Of the squirming body on the marble plate
They look away And then they say: For the good of the land For the love of the man Standing alone sitting alone On the throne of the regal zone
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