Текст: John Wesley Harding. The King is Dead Boring.

The king puts on his raiment
And surveys the royal scene
And tries to put his finger on
The source of all his ennui

But when something goes, it's gone, you know
Starts at the top, spreads down
Just check out the faded bodywork
Beneath his rusted crown

They're waiting for impeachment
But they can't see the day
The queen can't give him any heirs
The word is he's to blame

So he beheads her just for fun
And now he's quoting Nietzsche
When you'd think that he would have known
She was his one redeeming feature

But the king isn't dead, the king's dead boring
That's the song that the millions sing
You name it, he's lost it, well he lacks everything
The king is dead boring

He used to be a Don Juan
Now he's just the royal slut
He's knocking up the servant girls
And he's waking up half-cut

He gets a chance to win us back
But gives them some old spiel
And all they see is the ghost
Of his former sex-appeal

But the king isn't dead, the king's dead boring
That's the song that his millions sing
You name it, he's lost it, he lacks everything
The king is dead boring

They used to sing, ?Long live the King?
He was the man with everything
But now they shout, ?Get that dull bastard out
Get that dull bastard out?

He used to be so Carnaby
So out of all our leagues
But now it's all that he can do
To zip up his fatigues

If only he could make excuses
Engage with us somehow
But effort is so out of place
And failure's not allowed

Because the king isn't dead, the king's dead boring
That's the song that the millions sing
You name it, he's lost it, he lacks everything
No the king isn't dead

The king's dead boring
That's the song that the millions sing
You name it, he's lost it, well he lacks everything
Well he lacks everything, the king's dead boring