I knelt down on my bedroom floor
That I might speak with God
For I had grown so tired from life
And weary from my trod
I said "Though you're the Emperor,
And gooddwill you do bring
I kneel down here to ask you
Who's the King?
Is Chance the King? The fickle man
The man of cards and dice?
Is Sin the King? That scoundrel who
Compels us into vice?
Is it Hate? Or is it Love?
Is it Hunger or Thirst?
Are tides of Grief the guiding force?
Or merry tides of Mirth?
I used to think, oh gracious Lord
That Fear ruled as our King
At his heels Hate and Prejudice
Hunger and Suffering
But that was all before I felt
The creeping chill of Death
Before the back of my neck felt
His cold and clammy breath
I heard the Reaper call to me
Six crows circled around
The church bells rang their knells and then
'Twas none of light, nor sound
But these are just my thoughts, oh Lord
I seek but your decree
And so I ask you Father, Who's
the King? For 'tisn't me."