Culture

Knocked on three doors and none was righteous

 

 

I knocked on three doors

and three kings stuck their heads out

One was a kind gentle soul who wished for world peace

Another was a bullfighter with a bodyguard

The last was a race care driver with no brakes

I wondered who was truly righteous

For not everything is as it seems

I lit them all on a ring of magical fire

and only one remained

but he was not righteous

just encased in fire repellent clothing

a sense of hope went running for the hills

a sense of weariness roared surprisingly so

I flagged down a carriage

but a sleeping princess already filled up the space

No toads and no apples were around

and no prince was to be found

sleep she would forever more

but she then pinched herself and walked away

The road was littered with broken glass

But I knew to never knock on three doors again

the one king remained but he was just a cape

and it had already been stitched up one too many times

time to stand up and let out the thread

 

 

 

 

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