Coronets rest on a death's head mask   No-one is safe while the curfew lasts   But crusted orbs glitter, sceptres gleam   While helmets of blood fill the screen       They look away   and then they say:   "For the good of the land   for the love of the man"   Standing alone sitting alone   on the throne of the regal zone       Old limbs hang in the torture room   While old kings hang in the portrait room   Their noble eyes gaze on the uneasy dance   of the squirming body on the marble plate       They look away   and then they say:   "For the good of the land   for the love of the man"   Standing alone sitting alone   on the throne of the regal zone