“42 is a code!”
“The king is a liar”, they whispered in fear
Painted by dark nightly hands
On peasants doors throughout the land
That they rise up with angry fists held high
Bound by the revelation of the unspeakable truth
And a secret code
The king’s men failed to know.
Out of their shadow lives they came
From behind the walls and under doors
An unseen nightly force of anger
Unleashed slaves of a thousand years
Blood spilled in the high towers of those whose power wained
A moonless night
When the silent ones found a voice
To burn the sun
The king’s men laid their arms to rest
Their eyes open wide in disbelief
Starring at the Crown’s old flag ol’ glory
Tatters in a night so dark and chill
The king is dead murdered in his land
Knives to his throat and into the heart
By slaves bound too hard for all too long
With a cry of freedom in their voice
“The King is dead!”, they scream
A crown-less head the peasant crowd is shown
With eyes scratched out
So that finally he could see
The tyrant gone
The land now free
A new day
A new dawn
