Crazily, fighting for a scrap of food
Unconcerned for safety
Or for the fact that they are nude
The king holds imperial court here
And these are his people
I am his jester
I speak the voice of doom
These are the voices
The king never hears
Even as a black cloud gathers
Even as destruction nears
For I am his jester
And nothing I say makes sense
But I speak honestly
About the dangers
From a place of innocence
Without pretense
So gathered people
Blessed strangers
Tell me, if you prefer happy things
Upon which to think
Would you also prefer hemlock
To be your drink?
