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lyrics
Who's got mascara? Who is the terror queen? Who's got her hands up covered in emerald rings? Hey keep it down, boys. Could be a trap. Could be a hole for souls, a feast and famine ghetto. Two weeks of horror, wit, and magic, the life of kings.
I swing a rubber ax. Lands a blow but bounces back. Leaves the bone and skin intact but cuts you in your dreams. Infection blights the hills. Time for rest and tests of wills while I'll gather lists of thrills and sing the life of kings.
Some live on roots and beans, a barrow full of mustard greens. They ration salt like love and wash it in a stream. I dine with knives and apples sharpened by a Japanese. Oil covers everything from teams of master thieves. I plan to ride tomorrow, cross the woods and seas. I'll bring back metal things, a raft of rubber trees. Or I might sit right here and sing the life of kings.
I see the seldom seen. Gives one guilt and songs for thee. You wouldn't trade my ways for old familiar things. You wouldn't take away the safety and the dreams. Yet you'd still feel the same as me, the life of kings.
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