There’s this deep-seated Doubt —
The lord of my domain;
I may be the regent,
But I’m only such in name.
He sits on my throne;
My subjects are his.
All the things I ever do
Are but to give him bliss.
I know him; but he knows me
And he knows I can’t resist:
All my fears and all my dreams
Are in his hands — I’m his.
And so to this tyrant-king
I must pay my due respects;
But in my mind, rebellion grows,
And soon we’ll have elects.
