I used to rule the
world. Now look at me, living on the streets, alone. I got a job as a street
sweeper. I always feel nostalgic as I sweep
the streets that I used to own. I was the king of Rome, until I was
overthrown, that is. Oh, I was quite the conqueror. I conquered many lands in
my time. I used to roll the dice, feel
the fear in my enemy’s eyes.’ Afterword, I would ride through the streets
of my new land, in a sort of parade, as my new subjects accepted me as their
king. I would listen as the crowd would sing;
‘Now the old king is dead. Long live the king.’ Those were the good old
days, until my subjects turned on me. It was the rise of a new religion; ‘Christianity,’
they called it. Well, they could worship whoever they wanted; I stuck with my
gods, the real gods. Unfortunately, this upset the people. This new religion
planted seeds of ideas in their minds, that all people were created equal. I
couldn’t believe it, that they would turn their back on me. One minute I held the key. Next, the walls
were closed on me. I never realized how corruptible my kingdom was. It was
as if my castles stand upon pillars of
salt and pillars of sand.
People were angry at me. They said I shouldn’t conquer as
much as I did. I started looking for ways out, claiming that I wasn’t as evil
as they were making me out to be. I said, ‘It
was the wicked and wild wind that blew down the doors to let me in.’ But
they weren’t buying it. Now, they were truly angry. They called me a tyrant,
and said that I should be overthrown. People
couldn’t believe what I’d become. Revolutionaries wait for my head on a silver
plate.
I remember how they captured me, threw me in a cell to rot.
After three days, I prayed. I prayed to their God. I was confused. The people
wanted to make Him their king. What a horrible position to have! As a king, you
always struggled to please everyone. Just
a puppet on a lonely string. Oh, who would ever want to be king?
I remember the day they came for me in my cell. There was a
great parade on the streets outside. I could hear the noise from my dungeon. I heard Jerusalem bells a-ringing, Roman Cavalry choirs a-singing. Singing
to their God, they shouted, ‘Be my
mirror, my sword, my shield, my missionaries on a foreign field.’ It was at
this time that I prayed harder to their God, begging Him to spare me my life,
which He did.
I used to rule the
world. Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now in the morning I sleep alone,
sweep the streets that I used to own. Every night, I pray to their God, to
my God. Ever since I was overthrown, the world is actually a better place. I
pray, ‘For some reason I can’t explain,
once Your son left this world there
was never an honest word, but that was when I ruled the world.’
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