Pythia, why has thou words whispered blood
That I would kill the crown to wear its gold
A Prince myself, why should I lust to be
A King...a killer...or whatever thy speaks
Who dares not know my father and the throne?
And to suggest his death by me...I laugh!
What of my brother...are we not a pair?
He even swears and drinks himself a cheer!
Could I be clever, curious or cold
To slay my father, or to slay his drink?
With gold I come and with gold nothing more
To ask of you where I would be in time
Yet all you give to me is blood and greed
And all I want to see are wives and seeds
Oracle, may thy portals have my love...
And me the chance to kiss Apollo's ring
Not now can I go home to him tonight
And say father good night to Morning's death!
Pythia, if the God's spoke through your eyes
Then blink again that I may die a Prince