Coronets rest on a death's head mask

No-one is safe while the curfew lasts

But crusted orbs glitter, sceptres gleam

While helmets of blood fill the screen



They look away

And then they say

"For the good of the land,

For the love of the man"

Standing alone sitting alone

On the throne of the regal zone



Old limbs hang in the torture room

While old kings hang in the portrait room

Their noble eyes gaze on the uneasy dance

Of the squirming body on the marble plate



They look away

And then they say

"For the good of the land,

For the love of the man"

Standing alone sitting alone

On the throne of the regal zone