The self-proclaimed king,
king of the jesters,
that believes we care
what he has to say

Rotted in a cave,
stinking of filth
noone cares when the jester speaks

ill-conceived destruction
serve him if you might,
his grand ideals of naught

He's no king of ours,
No respect does he gain
with his incessant chatter

Mayhaps he was dropped as a babe
Mayhaps someone cares
for we do not.

Behold the king!
King of Jesters!


Wylliam Te'Straif

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Khepary, in the year 263 MA.