He struts in finery, not truly his own.
His decrees echo from a imitated throne.
His narrative built, on seeds he has sown.
But history's harvest is strangely grown.
His decrees echo from a imitated throne.
His narrative built, on seeds he has sown.
But history's harvest is strangely grown.
The urge to judge, to steal the show.
For humble minds, in truth they find,
A richer now, for all mankind.
My muddled mind starts to cool.
High sky's true hue, I now can spy,
No lie, just light in mine own eye.