Kings Make Slaves

Kings will work the soil 'til their
Hands are worn to shoulders;
In his throne, the peasant smolders
“Soldiers, I need mine.”

In every saint a sinner waits for
Cues to leave the wings and take
The center stage with poison lines
Like, “I need mine.”

Take this man who'd never
Hurt a fly and turn the tables over
Watch the snow ascend from boulders
Forming clouds across the sky
See the whale choked down by Jonah
While the mastiff leads his owner
Abel, rising up, announcing, “I need mine.”

Rivers swiftly fill you veins
As blood coagulates the harbor
Now we've memorized the mantra
Hide your swords behind the pulpit