To drink the wealth of ochre grape and wine

A hark, amber laughs in the face of fates.

He mocks the masks of earthly, lone divine

A jade of trumps, a golden glaze of high gates

His doom designed in pulpit eyes of grief

A shade bears fruit, dark daggers in the night

Plunged into flourished flesh. He sighs relief

While the world drifts off, a rancid respite

His throne, sand and sulfur in semblances

Horses and legions in marauding mists

Scrolls of empty cloaks and remembrances

His life is ashes, a kingdom desists

Though time embers slates of these bloodless things


Thus is music marking the death of kings