[Spoken Word Intro: Old storyteller, creepy whisper, single violin] AH you're awake. Oh you wonder how you got here? Well you see a story teller loves a captive audience hahahaha hee hee. Time for another tale. This of a Fallen King now emperor of dust and webs he sits on his golden throne now he is of golden bones for he had no one to bury him he's all alone. His poor soul may be richer than any man's but it left him alone the touch of his hands. Hear him weeping listen. Shhhh... [Verse 1] He prayed the sun would not forsake, But pool within his hand, He turned the silk of summer wheat, To a barren, gilded land. His child, his love, with braided hair, He reached to kiss her brow, And left a statue cold and fair, Where warm life once had bowed. [Chorus] Oh waltz, thou gilded skeleton, Upon thy throne of dust, Thy empire did not fall by sword, But by a single touch. Thy crown is laced with spiders' silk, Thy scepter turned to rust, And all thou lov'st, thou lov'st to death, For gold must turn to dust. [Verse 2] No mortal hand to lay him low, No shroud to hide his shame, He sups alone where candles weep, And none recall his name. The banquet hall, once filled with song, Now holds no guest, no heir, But echoes of a foolish wish, That gilded all the air. [Chorus - Grand and Heartbreaking] Oh waltz, thou lonely emperor, Of silence and of bone, Thy coffers overflow with light, Yet thou must die alone. What profits man to own the stars, If stars he cannot hold? Thy soul, once rich, now beggared lies, An emperor of cold gold. [Outro: Whispered, music box dying] He weeps still... dost thou hear? Now look upon thine own dear hands... Art they yet warm?
