The Prince

The ash after we burned him was black
He hadn't burned enough so we put the ashes back

After the second burning the ash sparkled with gold
The iron wasn't glowing, the fire was too cold

So we stoked the furnace and shut the door
The flame cast shadows on the walls
Of tired men with sunken heads
And instruments of war

Let's leave the fire for an hour
We make demons when we rush
Which conspire inside a troubled mind
And leave the spirit crushed

Outside the sway of poplar which lined the roman road
Spoke of coming and then going but no earthly soul made known

What colours are we looking for? The colours of a king
Purple or gold, wealth or blessing

I did not see his face
Or the colours that he wore
He bore down on me with violence
And his sword was all I saw

So if it as you say
The prince was butchered on my pike
Prepare the cherry laurel
But our wreaths will bear no white

Deep in the furnace the flames signed our fate
In the oldest of scripts, the language of Cain

The hour passed, the iron glowed, the ash had fully burned
This time the colour rusted red. So we piled on the dirt