It’s so very hard these days, don’t you think?
to say that the Emperor’s not wearing a wink?
that he’s got no clothes on? No, no clothes at all.
We see it, and say it.
Our voices are small.
The emperor has trumpeters drowning us out
and jesters surround him who holler and shout
singing his praises at volumes so loud
there’s no chance of hearing us – lost in the crowd.
The jesters and trumpeters ride on his train
there’s money for them in the lies they maintain.
I’m losing all hope of us ending this farce
and I’m so very tired of his saggy bare arse.