Little Caesar

 

They call it popular conscience

And it is an unusual fever

It offends reason and nourishes ideals of equality

I will not let this horrendous epidemic corrupt their minds

I will spread terror over my people

And will wave my sceptre against any reluctance

 

The night is looking and does not hold advice

It drags dismay and awkward hours

The dark as blind as rage, as agony

 

His Majesty is looking for quietness in his pillows of silk

He is looking for the sleep of the just between walls of precious marble and a frescoed ceiling

He is looking for an oasis of peace for his soul

I will leave no escape to this ungovernable rabble

If a dog has already bit the master

It will surely attempt again someday

 

The night is a free fall with no grips

A screeching friction of nightmares and regrets

An air pocket, void of hope and lucidity

 

His Majesty is looking for quietness in his pillows of silk

He is looking for the sleep of the just between walls of precious marble and a frescoed ceiling

He is looking for an oasis of peace for his soul

So distant to forget the brutal fashion

With which he demanded devoted allegiance

 

His Majesty is looking for quietness in his pillows of silk

But the rest of the just is dominion of a kingdom called conscience

He will come to a compromise with the Good Lord

And he will cover the altars with diamonds

He will get indulgence and the power of overturning the meaning of the Commandments