| Go and look for the dejected once proud
|
| Idol remembered in stone aloud
|
| Then on coins his face was mirrored
|
| Take a look it soon hath slithered
|
| To a fractured marble slab, renunciation clad
|
| His nourishment extract from his subjects
|
| That mass production profile.
|
| He’s a God -- in -- in an alcove.
|
| Once he spread the rain
|
| So they dreamt in vain
|
| Once he spread the wheat
|
| Had made garlands for his feet
|
| Until the lily poet of our times
|
| Horizoned on the line
|
| Love became the in theme then
|
| Opposing fakers thrice by ten
|
| Don’t perceive his empty plea
|
| That redundant effigy.
|
| He’s a God -- in -- in an alcove.
|
| Take in view his empty stool
|
| What’s left is satin cool
|
| Clawing adornment for his crimes
|
| They saw they had to draw the line
|
| So they sent him far away
|
| So they sent him far away
|
| To a little alcove
|
| To a little alcove
|
| All alone.
|
| He’s a God, a God.
|
| Now I am silly
|
| Now I am silly
|
| Silly, silly, silly, silly,
|
| Silly. |