Masochistic at night and omnipotent by day

the tyrannical child king of a neutral country

whose arsenal only serves to palliate

the brigades who stand firm by a frontier of glass

whose court ball consists of threefold blindfold

dewlap dancers who rave by their sacrificial strass

all contributions gratefully retrieved

they don't have to be seen to be believed

the walls of this palace are paper thin

get close enough to write and you'll listen in

but there's bugs on the walls

planted from within

king of the world

suicidal god of his own microcosmos

where all black holes are filled

and no bangs are big

'cept the one that brought him there

that pushes him away

king of the world of ideas

it all goes by so fast

nothing that slips past

and if it does slow down

stars would gather 'round and vaporise the ground

his body will be noise

and his mind be sound