The party's over
The guests have departed.
Obedient servants
Collapsed in a corner.
Musicians are rolling
Their drums to a cart.
The singers are chewing
The last of the tarts.
The gypsy ensemble
Are passing a bottle
And whispering magic
And powerful horses.
The old King is asleep
Hunched up on his throne.
The sweat of the dancers
Is rolling down the curtains.
Lard and sweetmeats
Are trampled aground.
The beggars are hugging
Their bellies distended.
Sweet slumber
Is coming to visit the palace.
Under the stairs,
Alone and forgotten,
The young jester
Is wiping his tears.
Arousing laughter
With brazen overtures,
Is one tiring business.
His muscles are aching,
His belly is empty.
He'll fend for himself,
As he always was able.
Young jester sees
The King's shaking hands
His daughter's migraines,
Fake minds and feeble hearts,
Oily hands and rotten teeth,
Dull blood and dead desire,
Hollow love and hungry eyes.
The jester sees.
Around him,
The angels dance.
Around him,
The fairies cry.
It is to him
That animals run.
It was his kin
Who entered the den,
To whom the lions crawled
To bow down and lick his feet.
Through his transparent hands
The jester gazes at the heavens.
The jester sees.
