The young, charismatic king is making ready for war.
His hate for the barbarians is his driving passion.
In his eyes you can see it burning,
He longs to march across the sands.
Bejeweled and shining at his side hangs a Persian scimitar.
All his life, he’s waited to be a hero.
Showered with riches, fame, and glory…a hero.
Grueling training begins, to make the soldiers ready for the coming war.
Hear the chilling sound of whetstone against scimitar.
In his burning eyes, see the passion.
Watch his warhorse carry him across the searing sands.
Look at the thousands of watch fires burning.
Soon, it will be conquered cities burning.
Will these down-trodden people see him as a hero?
Or will they wish him back across the sands?
Can the broadened horizons hold that were made by this war?
Can he make the barbarians leave, this young king with his passion?
Stand before the besieged gates, and raise your scimitar.
Stain it with barbarian blood, your noble scimitar.
Feel the need to conquer with its fierce burning.
In your tent by night, slake your need for passion.
The grasping harem-girl revels in the arms of our budding hero.
Soon it will be the king and the she-nuisance at war,
So he shall send her to his courts back across the burning sands.
The harem girl washes in expensive oils, back across the sands.
Noble king, quickly swing your scimitar,
For in your court the harem-girl makes war.
The courtiers’ anger is burning,
Furious a their King-hero,
For being blinded in his passion.
This wily harem-girl seeks her own life-long passion,
To rule o’er the sands,
Beside a great hero,
Who deftly wove his scimitar,
Through conquered streets burning,
Furiously waging war.
In his war and in his passion,
The King lies burning on the sands,
Impaled on his own scimitar, none the less a hero.
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