The King

I err, aimless in falling towns, looking to trade some time for some way to get around. I hold fast to my paper crown as the howl of the wind it blows it all to hell.

I am the king of the ancient town,
I am the reign of the young,
And I have been told I'm the only one.
But I am, no I am not
I am, no I am not

Well, I am, no I am not Well, I am, I am, I am.


I am the fault of the clerics pen. I am the joke without, within. I am the call for righteous living. I am the spawn of a drunken vision. I am the hope that drives the dread out of the slums for miles ahead. I am the ad that sold the mould. I am the billboard for the soul.

I am the king of the ancient town,
I am the reign of the young,
And I have been told I'm the only one.
But I am, no I am not
I am, no I am not
Well, I am, no I am not
I am, I am, I am.


I was produced by old machines, rusted and worn by centuries. I was entoiled by sullied laws, and now I am caught between its jaws. I am the scar of my descent, destined to be the same again. I am the circle viciously complete and closed like history.