| Current mood: |  cranky |
The King
The King's stewards came to claim
The taxes every year
Sometimes it was twenty coins
Sometimes it was ten
Sometimes it was a bag of grain
Or the hide of a newborn deer.
But the King was always to blame
Because he did not care to stop his men
His grand feasts left eighty peasants eating weeds
His palaces, his games, his wardrobe
It was always the same
The peasants would pay thirty, twenty, ten
Sometimes it could be a bag of grain
Or the hide of a newborn deer.
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