A painted smile, a hollow gaze, Dancing through the royal maze. They raise their cups, they cheer his name, Blind to the player behind the game. *I wear the mask, but they wear the blindfold.* He bends the truth, he shapes the lies, Guiding fools with hollow eyes. The king believes the jester’s cheer, Never sees the blade draw near. *Their laughter is my symphony, the melody of their doom.* Laugh, my lords, while I decide, Who will fall and who will rise. No sword, no war, no bloody cries— Just quiet hands that shape demise. *I speak in riddles, and they dance to my tune.* The fool they mock, the fool they trust, Turning kingdoms into dust. One last bow, then he departs, Leaving ruin where he played his part. *No* banners wave, no trumpets call, Yet still the mighty learn to crawl. Laugh, my lords, while I decide, Who will fall and who will rise. No sword, no war, no bloody cries— Just quiet hands that shape demise. *From the shadows, I take my crown.*
