Matza Di Lourde

 

Sebastian Kruger

The king goes sad and naked

The king goes sad and naked

Just like communities

and their roots, marriage 

with the crown 

will last for 3 days, washed 

thirty-karat gold thread

and more than ten debates

About who should and shouldn't go

to his colloquial lynching

The king will carry 

the scepter close to his heart

that a monarch 

has to deserve the crown

And own a heart.

He's going to be sad

Not because he's king

but because it was late, 

and their commoners

don't like it anymore

nor of monarch customs

Not all

That comes out of there

The king goes like a defendant

fulfill state functions,

Spend too much and get absorbed

for all bridge games

not yet enjoyed,

The king is now a poor monarch

who is accountable to the Prime Minister

of the toilet paper bill

roll-your-own tobacco and events 

that will slim down the social fabric

Poor sad monarchy

Who insists on showing with pomp

What the costume and the lip rumbles

There is no joy in the English monarchy

And no beauty in any other

'Cause the kings of nothing

showed to their commoners

that didn't add up 

value to its symbology

but they added taxes 

to your frequent stay

in European resorts,

in tax havens

in rites and rituals that deserve no place

In the time of monarchy

Who wears the robes 

Imperals are the commoners

'Cause they're the ones who pay 

their beautiful uniforms

Sapphire embroidery

The king, it is lawful,

can go sadly and richly dressed,

ostensibly programmed

He can see his heritage at the ready

run away to you to pay the NHS ceiling

but no,

before he come on television

at the planned ceremonies

May the king in his splendor

It has nothing to offer the nation

Unless, perhaps,

His shameless spending

Its sad joy and venom

King Charles goes with a saber and a scepter

It goes from zás and from perpetual

End-of-the-Line King

A king among social camilas

and commendations

The monarchy is not what it used to be

The commoners want to believe in the brilliance

From before, but this king

It's already dethroned 

with his silly hat, 

Unglamorous

With his silly relatives

Of the Court

With his consort

Feed more pages 

of the history of the aristocracy

Possible, stupidly emptied 

and anachronistically European

with Brexit without Brexit, 

Whether you like it or not

The king goes, 

but the king is no longer going. 

And your coins 

will have the stamp of the end of the line

The monarchy is already beautiful 

in the eyes of the poor

Family members of monarchs

that can see their substitutes 

over the internet, the screen and

Imagining their exiles

playfully between walls of

A Royal Battlement Castle

in the illusion of garments,

In the illusion of power

In illusion, cutout, vision

Of a time that crowns itself

No kings, no royals

No circumstantial pomp.

Who knows, maybe this one isn't

The Last of the Diners

That you can see the bald of the teeth

of his subjects, and 

Still on the battlements of the castle

Keep the truth, the secret

of the deposed monarchy; 

No Reign Holds Up

By the King

but for the octopus of minutiae

By the princesses and dependencies

By the sapphires and appearances

The king goes to pieces

But he's not king of powers

but penicillin baforent

Full of real idiocy

And it doesn't make the coronation for less

Ordered 

An eclipse in Scorpio for that. 

It would seem that the latter monarch

Maybe it's given in sacrifice 

By the king who kills elephants 

and steals their ivory

sumptuous robes 

Of the monarchy in the world

Whose name is on the table

for being a man

Same as the others

who has bastard children

and is given to scandals. 

And for so many other monarchs 

who added nothing

from noble to nobility of Ideals

No king cures the thinness of the

that pay for vices and subtlety

and greatness

and illusions of real stories

where eventually, in

An ancient coronation, 

perhaps a dignified one

Frogs become greatness 

from other times or into oblivion

of the whole monarchy. 

The king goes sad and monarch

And yet, the commoners

they cry out to the heavens,

Of your sorrow

They call their vileness sad

Cry out for some airtime

In a world that no longer admits

Monarchies. 

The king then goes monarch, but sick

Insecure but believing

that after these three days of coronation

No one else asks him to account 

or lean budgets for 

His gestures of capital highness

The king is already late for the coronation. 

And British punctuality

It will be escorted by it's royal guard

in the real Big Ben

In the final minute 

The King takes off his costume

And the people look upon 

the three days as one day

Of colossal illusion

After that, nothing else

It will serve as an excuse

for the current spells

Their demented children

and their goal accomplished.

"Do not expect rejoicing from this king

That is already more plebeian

That the poor man's hat that one day

He wanted it his own. 

In the old days of monarchy.

This old lady

will withdraw

Sneered and shoved

through the interstice

foreign and international policy.

Dress up the crown jewels

and the bulwark

The monarchy gets sick like all systems

Privileged one day

The king goes, so let him go,

The crown, this one is in 

the Museum of Ancient History