Throne of Thorne

For Kings that stand and forge the will of people lost and found, their reigns are told by temples standing, that tower above the ground. So why do the poorest labor, their hard- lived lives for free. Their hands make giantstatues for, the infinite cosmic sea. And when we look to our Grand gods who hide up high, in stars that will not tell. This is the price of daily faith, our worship to the sun, that heats our worldly hell. Just time remains to rule these lands, both far and near away - - they streak beneath the sundial's face, pure seconds of our mortal race, our kings that seize the day. Then at the end of every age, each King and Queen left bent. How does one sit in a throne of thorns, well, that's the point, they can't.