All these fields of uncut grass
And garbage
Trop tard
respirer dans les fumées
Personne ne veut me connaître
Je suis le roi des imbéciles
Lay me upon a bed
Of thorns and roses
My body is already broken
Cannot be repaired or stitched
I am ready
Arms outstretched
Awaiting your nails
In each wrist and hand
Pound the nails in with prejudice
And determined certainty
But before you do
Place upon my head
The crown of thorns
To announce my reign
I am the king of the fools
No one has domain
Over me
Trop tard
So very late
Rain rain
Pouring down
Upon my parade
The king and his charade
Where is my entourage
When is the march
My coronation
Begins
Behind the gas station
Giving away free flyers
For the event
