My mind said, "knock knock, knock knock,
Mad artist, you are about to get shell shock."
But who cares, I was drenched in the wine and fame,
And with enjoyment with a dame.
Not like a real artist in serenity searching for more,
My muse was in destruction's front door.
On the other side, I was shaking my Rolex, showing my happy hour,
Looting from the poor, showing my imperial power.
I was once a philanthropist, a voice for the victim of society,
How can money make me corrupt, and make evil my deity.
That's maybe my miscalculation, the victim must be the new monarch.
Balance must be maintained, by someone in the throne.
Someone must crush somebody's bone,
There's must be an heir of the throne.
Now, it's my time, so why shouldn't I?
Enjoy my power and bid my creation goodbye.
"Knock Knock, knock knock, the table has turned,
Once again a new prince has risen to rule a new lesson to be learned."
"O old king, run your Lamborghini as fast as you can cause you have no more the crown,
Today, or tomorrow but soon the time's chariot will hunt you down."
Now I repent, but find no way to escape,
To hide from reality, to be safe.
The old must be slain, the new must take place,
O dear, I think now it was far better to be among the common face.
How better it was to be, to write for the oppressed.
Than to be an old king, who has nothing, who is chased.