King In Yellow

The king in yellow, that hanged king,
A tragic figure, a mournful thing.
His throne, a noose, his crown, a rope,
His reign, a horror, a world without hope.

People once did him adore,
But now is seen, his true implore.
The yellow king, a symbol of dread,
A warning to all, a sign of the dead.

They say he spoke of twisted dreams,
Of alien worlds and horrid schemes.
His words, a poison, they say it brings,
Madness and death, such fearful things.

The king in yellow, our hanged king,
His story echoes, and still does sing.
A tale of woe, a caution'ry tale,
Of the price of power, a deadly gale.

And so we gaze upon his throne,
His dangling form, his deathly moan.
And we remember, with a solemn ring,
The king in yellow, our hanged king.