Sparkatale

Beaten the loyal with sticks and rocks
Taken your men and broken their bones.
Never saw the faces on the clocks
That finally threw you off your throne.

And now you've fallen from disgrace
Into the misery of which you earned
Look at the pain on your pampered face
And feel the anguish that you have churned.

Your loyal subjects look upon you with hate
Their hearts bore the brunt of your reign
And now it is the sweet hand of fate
Giving them a chance to right their pain.

Brace yourself, fallen master!
Prepare for the punishment of your crimes.
Get ready for the unseen disaster
That has been due for quite some time.

Battered body lays upon the ground
Shields itself with trembling hands...
The sky echoes with the cracking sounds
Blood is strewn upon the lands.

Disgrace is colored blue, black, and red.
Blue is for the sorrow you caused them all.
Black is for the souls that now are dead.
Red is for the bloody tears that had to fall.

They drag you to the top of a lonely hill
So you can see all that you depraved.
Then when the air has finally grown still,
They bury you in your kingly grave.