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A king sits over a throne and ruleth a nation. He has no palace nor castle but a throne He has minions clamouring to his whims He has servants ready at his beck and call His realm surpasses that of an estate Yet he has no Palace He dreams himself a Palace On an island across a bridge Its towers, far reaching into the skies Its entrance, majestic in its depth Bearing artefacts, he has collected over the years The chandeliers, crystals gleaming The furniture, specially crafted by Kenyan word workers The walls, intricately designed with medieval European tapestry. The bathrooms, tiled with marbles, where he can be bathed by naked beauties like Prince Akeem in Coming to America He dreams of servants With skin shades lighter than his Waiting upon his beckon To serve him breakfast in bed With a platter of eggs and bacon, sausages and hash browns, fresh grapes plucked from his palatial garden He dreams of a courtyard facing the ocean Acres of land that go on for miles Where he will celebrate his fortune A perfect location to give away his daughter His bedroom, windows that open from the ceiling to the floors The sounds of wind and water rocking are music to his ears A king he is, but not a Palace to call his own These are all but dreams Dreams of a Palace on an Island
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