(Intro) HIS MAJESTY His Majesty consults the trees, The oaks all nod; the roses please. He asks the leaves which way to go— They whisper, “Sir, we wouldn’t know.” His Majesty has seen the plan, A splendid future, drawn by man; A New World Order, bright and clean— Though somehow he’s not in the scene. He speaks of harmony and change, Of systems vast and worlds rearranged; While suited men, with knowing smiles, Rearrange the furniture for miles. His Majesty believes he leads, He plants the thoughts, he tends the seeds; But gardeners gently trim the vine, And tell him every branch is fine. He waves the hand, the curtains rise, The cameras catch his thoughtful eyes; He knows the future, or so they say— Provided someone tells him which way. His Majesty, serene and grand, Surveys the kingdom from his stand; The crown is his, the script is too— The only question: who writes it though? (Outro.)
