Pride

your pride, your royal majesty,

is far too great for me to like

you pound your iron fist against

the castle walls, which crumble down.

gold and silver tapestries

and brightest chandeliers once burned

before you pounded iron fists

before the walls came falling down.

your pride, your royal majesty,

lies far too much excessively

beyond the borders of your realm

a lonely kingdom you preside.

o’er hills of gray which wandered lost

and streams of gentle, quiet blue

proudly, broadest meadows grin

and stand up to your fearsome wrath.