Once-king.

On moulding wooden throne I sit,

Surrounded by steel and glass,

I, once-king of the Eurasian mat,

A rotting soulless mass,

My skin now white and black,

Doomed by the maddened who surround my throne,

Taken into the white halls of medicine and mimic’,

I, once-king of Eurasia, will be known for one achievement,

I will be known, in the end, as a dead man on a throne whit’,

My black lungs fouling the marbled stairs with their fetid produce,

And yellow ichor – all that is left of my blood – will further foul the green hills,

Of my now lordless empire,

There was no king of Eurasia they’ll say,

For, though king of the world,

I will be known to the earth, only as king for a day.