Yellow is the pollen, and yellow is the air.
How far this world has fallen, how deep is their despair?
What joy or love could ere be found when life no fear will bring?
No joy, no love since he was crowned, the curséd Yellow King.
Each man shall return do dust, when he shall meet his death.
Although he struggles hard he must someday release his breath.
But through some twisted magick this half-man to life would cling.
His tale’s not brave but tragic, the curséd Yellow King.
Oh! Thief of all the planet’s youth, yet source of awe and wonder.
You’ve hidden well your horrid truth to tear these lives asunder.
The children have returnéd now, and you can hear them sing.
As long as beast and man all bow before the Yellow King.
So Houma hangs above the pit upon a fragile string.
A tree survives by eating shit, so shall the Yellow King.