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The King Must Die Lyrics

The Kings sleeps late, is seldom seen, his crusted bear is quite unclean,
this fingernails of lichen green brush crumbs from his great bed.
Arthritic hands of mottled brown turn moths from out his dressing gown,
he'll search at some length for the crown which nests upon his head.
He'll talk aloud unto himself, curse his cough and wretched health,
and run a finger along the shelf where his pills and potions reign.
And if his limpid Chancellor should chance to peer around the door
He'll bellow like a wounded boar and repel him with good aim.
Ill met the Council of the King in Midnight Court conspiring
A seditious hooded gathering concur the King must die.
I fear they whisper sinister the Bishop and the Minister
A poison to administer in a veal and venom pie.
Gut, the cook, girth aptly wide surveyed the pie with paternal pride
Quite aware of what lay inside and feigned a modest tone.
And all the while the Council schemed how best to pick the kingdom clean
While those who would did court the Queen with one eye on the throne
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Duel (1989)
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