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They were all gathered, the priest of the family
Had flung his belly at the confluence of the heavens
Close your eyes, these games are not for the good Gods
The pheasant was torn, feathers were gone
Crown the secret places of the beautiful baroness
Close your eyes, these games are not made for the good Gods
br/>The Knave of Hearts placed his velvet hands
On the fine flower of a court lady
Run, drink, sing, the king died this morning!
Like millions of wisps, the wine vomited out of the pitchers
To come and stain dresses that were no longer there
Close your eyes, these games are not made for the good Gods
Nonchalantly the little page opened his picture book
Under the flaming stake of the meowing black cat
Close your eyes, these games are not made for the good Gods
Come and browse my bré Viaire, heretical bee,
From the first prayer to the last canticle
Run, drink, sing, the king is dead this morning!
Troubadours, leave your tr ©teaux, the horses are racing,
There is fire in the castle, it's the end of the ball
Run, drink, sing, the king died this morning!