| The scattered pages of a book by the sea
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| Held by the sand and washed by the waves
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| A shadow forms cast by a cloud,
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| Skimming by as eyes of the past, but the rising tide
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| Absorbs them effortlessly claiming.
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| They told of one who tired of all singing,
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| «Praise him, praise him.»
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| «We heed not flatterers,"he cried,
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| «By our command, waters retreat,
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| Show my power, halt at my feet.»
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| But the curse was lost,
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| Now cold winds blow.
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| For from the north, overcast ranks advance
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| Fear of the storm accusing with rage and scorn.
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| The waves surround the sinking throne
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| Singing «Crown him, crown him.»
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| «Those who love our majesty show themselves!»
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| All bent their knees.
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| But he forced a smile even though
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| His hopes lay dashed where offerings fell.
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| Nothing can out peace destroy as long as no one smiles.
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| More opened ears and opened eyes,
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| And soon they dares to laugh.
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| See a little man with his face turning red
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| Though his story’s often told you can tell he’s dead. |