Flocons de Bonheur

He is the Mad King, breaker of the dawn,
Burning down his kingdom just to prove he’s never wrong.
Mock him and he’ll hunt you, question him and you’re gone
For honor, for vengeance, for the crown he clings upon.

In the hall of shattered mirrors, where his shadow wears a crown,
The Mad King sits in silence while the jesters gather ’round.
They whisper jokes in corners, thinking he won’t hear the sound
But every laugh is treason when a tyrant’s pride is bound.

He wants praise like burning incense, rising high above the throne,
And every voice that falters turns his blood as cold as stone.

He is the Mad King, breaker of the dawn,
Burning down his kingdom just to prove he’s never wrong.
Mock him and he’ll hunt you, question him and you’re gone
For honor, for vengeance, for the crown he clings upon.

The fools once danced in colors, now they tremble dressed in fear,
For the King who hates their laughter keeps a list of who sneers near.
He punishes the slightest doubt, the truth he will not hear
A kingdom built on ashes, ruled by rage year after year.

He wants worship like a fire, fed by every trembling voice,
And if you dare deny him, he will make a brutal choice.

He is the Mad King, breaker of the dawn,
Burning down his kingdom just to prove he’s never wrong.
Mock him and he’ll hunt you, question him and you’re gone
For honor, for vengeance, for the crown he clings upon.

No hero rose to stop him, no army dared to stand,
For he swore that every insult would be paid for by the land.
And so he lit the torches with his own unsteady hand
A king who feared the jesters more than flames across his sand.

He is the Mad King, tyrant of the throne,
Who turned his realm to cinders just to guard his fragile throne.
No laughter in the kingdom, no mercy ever shown
A crown of fear and fury, and a king who dies alone.