The heralds shout a frantic lie across the city square
While he parades his flabby gut within the morning air
He claims a robe of woven light and threads of ancient gold
But all I see is wrinkled skin and gooseflesh in the cold
The sycophants are bowing low to hide their judging eyes
Applauding for the naked truth and praising all the lies
He struts upon the marble path with swinging heavy hips
While laughter is a poison gas behind a million lips
The sun arrives to testify against his pale disguise
Exposing every blemish to the blue and empty skies
He holds a scepter made of air and points it at the crowd
Demanding that the hymns of praise be sung and sung aloud
He’s lacing up a fantasy and walking through the street
With nothing but the pavement and the blisters on his feet
The emperor is shivering but he’s wearing such a grin
A monument of arrogance and very sagging skin
Sing a song of woven air and cloth that isn’t there
While the foolish king is stripping every single secret bare
I watch the way the sunlight hits the hair upon his chest
A ruler who has failed a very simple optical test
The tailor is a genius who has vanished with the pay
Leaving only mockery to finish off the day
He speaks of grand architecture and the power of the state
While every single citizen is laughing at his gait
The ministers are nodding as they track his every stride
Swallowing the bile of a decimated pride
I want to scream the obvious and watch the towers fall
But silence is the only thing that’s moving through the hall
He’s a god of pink and fleshy folds a god of greasy hair
Walking through the vacuum of his own pathetic glare
The evening chill begins to bite the shoulders of the man
Who built a giant empire on a very naked plan
He retires to his chamber with a look of high disdain
Ignoring all the ridicule and all the coming rain
The mirror shows a cavity where glory used to sit
While he admires every inch and every single bit
The comedy is absolute the comedy is deep
As the naked king begins to drift into a lonely sleep
The world remains a theater where the costumes are the law
And no one dares to mention every single thing they saw