Todos sabemos quién puede ser ese «rey» y quiénes sus «insectos» en este país en este momento…
«King of insects, you eat your own,
Atop an anthill, you call your throne»
Words come easy, behind a screen,
When there’s no interface to face, to be seen.
King of insects, you eat your own,
Atop an anthill, you call your throne.
Kingdom of one, so unaware,
As one-by-one your subjects vanish into air.
Chatter to the wind, make your decree,
And save your venom for the ones who disagree.
Your castle walls are falling, your body’s frail,
Your window on the world is minuscule in scale.
Burrow deep now, Escape the light,
Heaven forbid you have to face, The ones you slight.