King's Garden-Slanted People

King's Garden - Slanted People A cold wind she blows In spite of your silence. A harsh light... You know? Safely, in violence, A sweet star above... Hurt and desire So far below. The King cries out for more... Dismay, at surrender... Where white hours await. Decay, so hollow, A message it makes. The King cries out for more... His garden grows, A sickly sore. His garden grows, A sickly sore. His back now turned, Against a wall, They'll have his head, Have his head. His garden grows, A sickly sore. His garden grows, A sickly sore. There's a dagger in his poisoned mind, His garden grew, A sickly sore... He wants more. The King cries out for more...