The king wakes up every morning
The castle of sand still holds.
If you look through the white of the lies in his eyes,
He doesn’t want to be told.

He’s still attended by squires,
The knights raise saluting hands,
But the castle’s walls and towers and spires
Are made of nothing but sand.

He looks at the rising ocean
He looks at the setting sun
And tastes the bitter potion
Of all the years gone.