Curse this man’s ambition,
Cut’em down, cut’em down.
Let us cleanse with our incisions
This delirium he’s found.
Sorry Caesar, time to die,
Seems your reach has breached the sky,
And your head is far too large to wear the crown.

Was it pride that took your life?
Even Brutus lent his loyal knife.
Or was it jealousy about the town?
Middle march in Rome is sweet,
But greener grasses breed deceit.
And it’s hard to find your foes when friends abound.

Curse this man’s religion,
Nail’em down, nail’em down.
And the millions who have listened
To his sermon on the mount.
Sorry Jesus, but to reign
As god on earth would be insane,
So we offer you instead this thorny crown.

Were you not the savior they had sought?
Did life conflict with what you taught?
Or was it politics that brought you down?
You preached of peace in promised lands,
Then murdered by the mob’s demands.
And to this day your message can’t be found.

Curse this man’s intention,
Shoot’em down, shoot’em down,
He will pay for his dissention,
And for spreading it around.
Sorry Martin, but your dream
Will disrupt our old regime.
Only we can have the right to wear the crown.

Was it just a man who killed the king?
A troubled soul who did this thing?
Or was it that our hate was so profound.
That even in the world anew,
We favor those who share our hue.
And to our own beliefs we’re tightly bound.