The Queen's Speech

In times to come, woes in sight
In shadows past no vision of light
When darkness swallows and belches pity


The nitty gritty of pretty merry, I admire 
Shall become more of a fairy prayer
The sounding of war drums, follow rushing of waves


Inter-fusion of whaling voices, butchered at sea in piece(s) 
Bewilderment of supplications gone awry
An obligation of mercy to show and behold, made void 


To stem oozing pain from sighs at moonlight, made void 
And moanings from sides torn from buffets
Left to starve on the door step of war drums 


Meet me at the place where fear thrives
Where tears cry and whales moan of shallow waters 
Where uncertainty is surety, death is a luxury


At the place where happiness has no face
And destitute, grips like a fever pitch 
Then talk to me about misfortune, you lucky bustard