Open them ears, O' listeners!
The walls want to speak.
They speak no great as a leader, nor sweet
as a song from a nightingale's beak.
What they reveal is an ugly truth.
A truth no one of us can bear,
says it sees a thousand die,
of a certain end we fear.
Of all the great visionaries that lived and died,
the wall still stood there.
It is yes, covered by royal blood,
but about it no one did care.
Spent years to contemplate, urging to speak,
to tell the truth I reckon
But you were so busy with mortality,
You never saw me beckon.
You perceived me as an obscure bailey,
while I protected in wars and marauds.
That young royal blood you praised,
while I deserved the applauds.
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