Poet Fool

Poet marches on in the naked kings parade
Nobody cares when he kicks up a stone
His heads hanging down from the weight of the charade
No answers in the dirt, just dead old weary bones
You run, run, run like a mad man on a potion
You come, come down like a bird
Poet sings aloft on a stump of stone
Heavy words, heavy songs, he heaves them out to the throng
But they float like clouds across the backs of thesespoken
And he weeps like a child when they cheer an honest boys song
Poet, poet fool
You should be king
The obliging rings from your stool
The one great voice of the kingdom
But no, no, no one listens to
Poet fool