Before me on an orange throne,
His nobility worn and scarred,
Was one with the riches I sought.
I followed him through depravity,
In equilibrium fell not.
I followed him through violence,
Learned to strike, and to roll it off
As beating rain rolls off a leaf.
I followed him through sorrow's pain,
Broke my heart again and again.
Still I followed, through endless nights,
And through despicable ruin.
He spoke of his freedom attained
In prison; it's trace shining through
The walls and bars he keeps within,
Saw his mortal contradiction.
All that he scattered I gathered
Along the tortuous route.
I was unable to convince him,
He is still there, in argument.
Now I've my riches, my freedom.
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