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Chapter I: King of the Sugarcoated Tongues
Underneath the setting sun the jester and the chosen one debate which way they’ll make the world revolve again. While somewhere deep under the ground the lords and ladies of the crown will sow their seeds all through the night and plant words that he will write.
A puppet dancing on a string– he’s in control of everything, so safe and sound inside the wool they’ve wrapped him in. And slowly children gather round and see the freakshow they have found and bathe under his golden light and drink the words of second sight.
King of the sugarcoated tongues- building his tower to the sun. Ashes, ashes burn him down. Ashes, ashes burn him down.
Sitting on his throne up high, a playroom king surrounded by the butterflies they put there just to flatter him. And through the one-way mirror’s eye his masters view their latest prize and make the change he’ll usher in to cater to their every whim.
But shrouded by the veil of night the puppet king begins to bite the hands that hold the silver chains he’s shackled with. And from the ashes of a fool a superstar will rise to rule the secret armies they once led. All hail the king, the prince is dead.
King of the sugarcoated tongues- building his tower to the sun. Ashes, ashes burn him down. Hail to the saviour now, he’s come straight from the straight from their breeding plans to love. Ashes, ashes burn him down. Ashes, ashes burn him down.
When we go down to the core; you bend enough times and you’re sure to invite the waves that linger within and collapse the boat that we’re sinking in. You followed him out, so follow him in. Swallow the words that he serves again.