The king, dear girl, is but a man,
Made of flesh and bone.
He, like us, will one day die,
And we’ll share a common home.
His mortal ears should hear the truth,
But not from you nor I,
For while we dwell within his realm,
Upon us he will spy!
It’s not our place to judge the King,
´Tis the role of God alone.
But if Sire gets too mercurial,
God will tell him so — by phone.