the roaring rotation of the relentless rain
penetrates my reptilian brain
how many times must i explain
that i do not wish to be king again?
the corridors of power
are filled with dead flowers
and the palace stairs
are carpeted with despair
the spider waits
the ambassador of fate
i want to go back
to my mushroom shack
beyond the castle walls
where wet leaves fall
without a thud
in the mud
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