I BECAME A KING WHEN I DIED
I departed out of sorrows
A sweet taste of life
Call it illusion
Oh I miss my tattered robe
It was always on me
Not as pleasant of the catholic priests
But as old as a century tweed
They left me to my piteous fate
And I couldn’t keep the pace
They go wailing
They quest my demise
I care not to their pretense
Call them felons
My obituary could not escape the dailies
It was glaring to all readers
I wish I could eat and drink in my dead
But that is how affluent my people are.
In my new house i called it castle
But they called it casket
My adornment was synonymous to a knight
In my casket was precious gold
That could save a hundred poor folks
I was privileged to bury with
For once
