The king set a priestly snare a do well na’er snap that timely whip and willow weep the loss it’s strip
Fallen truth from broken sky, the will to wander amidst the blind man’s broken back inclined toward hate
Prostrate the Jew spit the tricksters blood cross temple
Writhe the pig a bullet to their pleasure, Aquinas the proud
Now bowl the rock and smear the strong for swelleth pride in stone but for salt on earth
Poison the whore and quench her lustful vengeance lest there be a real man amongst men
Oh temporary king braggart conspire with the priest but Machiavelli waits for all sneaks and warts
Plunge the breast of all Europe and drench her in drink, hide your sins in her skirt
And so be war. Any cost she’ll bear for coin or kin or Alexander or Caesar or some whim
Nothing true, nothing gained, nothing new maintained
Just a dead Jew and ruined German, craned necks for bad gods and weak drunk progeny
Not even a decent death
Now never another king. Not even a field for battle. Peace never spilled so red a river.