Leadboots and rusty crown,
barbed wire belt on hte waist
Leather whip on the dirty hand
of the dying clown
"Take my hand. I´m the bleeding king.
And I won´t let you down.
Here I stand with only leadboots on
and no one threathens my precious throne."
Trying to take a step.
Grimace.
The lead on the feet is too heavy.
And the stining naked bleeding body
falls to the cold rocky wet sand.
"The spine won´t break as long as I stand.
The leadboots lead my way."
"Barbed wire makes me bleed.
With whip I can hate.
And the crown it makes me king."
Imagine yourself creeping across the mud
with no progress more than half meter per hour.
Imagine the children throwing rocks at your naked body.
Imagine the insects following the read streams to the source of your blood.
Imagine the pain.
Imagine the humilation.
Imagine... to be The King!
"Take my hand. I´m the bleeding king.
And I won´t let you go.
Here I crawl with only leadboots on.
And you will crawl with me."
"I could take away these boots.
I could walk awai.
But that would be waste of good
suffering and hate."
"Hail me!"
