Our Beloved Tyrant - Josh Tillman

Tell me, tell me you don’t mean to say

That you intend to steer this vessel

Out beyond the breaking waves —

You don’t expect you’ll spare the lives

Of those who brought you all this way?

Your ambling, rambling letters no longer surprise

I was a fool to think Joanna could escape your roving eye

And it’s true, you strike me as less godlike

With no son to crucify

We’ll be north of no direction

By the time we find the war

By the time we find the war

Your descent into madness was all of you we had;

It took a barrel and three dancers to coerce you back to bed

When you’d come bursting from your quarters

With the dagger Daddy held

Our beloved tyrant — no mother and no end

To those of us warned to prevent your doubtful tales of origin

From falling in among historians who’d love to do you in

We’ll be north of no direction

By the time we find the war

By the time we find the war

What you need is a private army;

what you need is an hourly girl

Tell me, tell me, tell me — where’s the family priest?

He watched us march the old man’s stern to bow before the mutiny

Should we divvy up his body now, or save him for the feast?