Creak, the king crawls crablike
as crusty coins clang.
He's covered in corpses;
the creaking king killed
countless men.
Counts, Countesses, Corporals
can't compare to
the tragedy of a cold killer.
Why must the king consume?
of coins,
of clean men,
of constant murder?
twisted creativity of another caliber?
Bang! then cackling.
Count yourself out,
before the crazy king comes.
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