No-one wants to be the king.
The crown cuts deep,
And he is weighed down by a garish robe.
No-one wants to be king.
His subjects brandish green swords.
Some cheer as he arrives, many more applaud his deposition.
No-one wants to be king.
The bread at his table is coarse,
The wine is bitter.
No-one wants to be the king
As he’s hoisted heavenward on a wooden throne
With his court of thieves.
No-one wants to be king,
And the crowd ignore his dirge:
“Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani!”
A dynasty ends,
A palace crumbles
And a temple is built in its place.
I had similar thoughts about this. Glad you have already penned it down. And glad I have already read it.