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