Work Text:
Can you account for the promise you made?
Oh, how they rent your gilt heart in my stead.
God has seen fit to excise your charade.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s hate,
The crown you bestowed me leadens my head.
Can you account for the promise you made?
Whole cities fall and my kingdom’s sun fades.
Living and breathing, our dreams unafraid;
God has seen fit to excise your charade.
Your brother—he seeks your lifeblood to slake;
His grief, a thing clawed, disquiets the dead.
Can you account for the promise you made?
The Lord Almighty can soothe this old ache
But His sweetened sleep can’t stitch how I bled.
God has seen fit to excise your charade.
I watch your head loll against your own blade;
At least ‘neath my lids, you’ve not ever fled.
Can you account for the promise you made?
God has seen fit to excise your charade.