The faint roar of a nation enraged,
Years of tyranny to be ended with a swift blade.
The shell of a king sits, in darkness caged,
Pondering the floor, his apparel ornamented with faded jade.

He walks now to the platform of his demise,
The crowd hisses, jeers, and screams for his head.
His wife and son can only watch and contemplate his lies,
His hopeful promises that a dirt-covered stage would not be his final resting bed.

A peasant tears away the king’s regalia, tossed to the rabid hyena,
A serf dons the crown and wields the scepter, smashing it down with authority.
The hyenas cackle at this effigy as an axe is raised to the cheers of the arena,
Justice is served as a boy loses his father, a wife her husband, to the will of the majority.