Bespeak of the mind-
Which heavenly drown,
In the curse of his kingdom,
The weight of his crown,
So darken the stars,
Which lighten the way
To where our king lies,
And where our tale lay,

In frost was set the Jester's soul,
His life, his blood, in essence whole,
Yet there he parted with worldly gaze,
Surrounded by Hell, surrounded by haze,
And step by step The Mire crept,
A slow and certain - still,
To dark and darker, the Jester slept,
In wake, in dream, both bade him kill...

The Mire spoke at last he said,
"By the weight of your demon,
The crown on your head,
Speak! Speak! And tell me your soul,
Your life, your blood, your essence whole,"

And thus without terror, darkness - prestige,
Answered the Jester, "My sire, my liege,
How certain this is death! Darkness entombed,
By the song of the winter, and the light of its moon,
For never a word dare echo this hall,
Where once I heard sonnets rings nothing at all,
The voices are vacant that sound in my head,
Their fires are frost, their living is dead..."

And The Mire... The Mire...
He bloomed with dark desire,
And the fires they rose -
With the passion of envy,
The hatred in heat, all turned to light,

- Melted the frost on the Jester's tongue,
With violence and lash it solemnly rung -

"By the name all angels do loud declare,
Bring back my land once beauteous - fair!"

- He grasped the arms, a familiar throne,
That now no more sat here alone -

"And levy the bards onto the street,
Where my ears, their songs, may joyfully meet,
Scatter thy fancy,
I'll have no misery here,
For you are but darkness,
And we know no fear."

And the Jester arose,
His voice in the air,
His kingdom was stirring,
And turning quite fair,
For the beauty and grandeur which heavenly wait,
Beset the eyes of this city, this city of states,