1

to lose an arm
nay, to lose an extension of one's self
is to feel life's true disease
that of the lonesome

someone's shouting
can you make it stop
I think i'll just lay down
wake me when it stops

there is a fairy land
where little butterflies have power
and all else sinks into the morning dew
to wrestle away the hours

In this land there is a forest
A place where trees stand tall
And all else falls into the shade
to sleep away the hours

And Beyond the forest lies a lake
where the prettiest fish swim strong
and all else floats above the surface
to rock away the hours

and At the edge of fairy land
There lies a lone embankment
Covered in prickly flowers
A perfect place to dream away the hours

so let it not be said
that he is a merciful king
that his people do matter
and that his cuffs are not stained
Because his sleeves are dyed red
His people, poor and hungry
and his country bows to my mercy