He was a bitter king, they said,
and bitter, true, he ruled.
None, save one, could have him fooled –
The demon in his head.

His lands then withered far apart,
and, too, so did his mind.
Soon left was no one dear or kind;
just barrens, and a plaque at heart.

His crown stretched big to blind the eyes,
this gilded throne broke coal instead,
He trusted no word, save his lies.

The stitch of soul was bare of thread;
This kingdom came, so its demise.
 Was I a bitter king; I fret.