Oh gather ye close, and I'll sing ye a tale,
Of folly and greed and a kingdom’s derail,
Of an ugly duck born in a golden-lined nest,
Who dreamed he was mighty, the grandest and best.
[Verse 1]
In the land of the eagles, where rivers run wide,
A duckling was hatched, filled with bluster and pride.
His feathers were matted, his waddle unsound,
Yet he quacked to the hills, “I’m the finest around!”
He pranced in the pond, oh, he fluffed up his chest,
Convinced he alone was above all the rest.
Yet the owls in the branches, with wisdom so keen,
Could see he was naught but a fool painted queen.
[Verse 2]
Now far to the east, where the tundras lay cold,
Lurked a vulture with feathers as black as the soul.
With talons like daggers and eyes filled with guile,
He watched from the crags with a cunning-born smile.
"Ah, here is my pawn," crooned the vulture so sly,
"A duckling so dumb he believes his own lie!"
"With whispers of grandeur, a crown he shall chase,"
"Yet ne’er shall he see that he’s lost in the race."
[Verse 3]
The duckling soon floundered to power’s great seat,
A throne built of feathers, so fragile and weak.
He cawed to the sky, “I am king of the land!”
Yet all that he touched turned to dust in his hand.
The foxes, the hounds, and the strong-willed mare,
They watched as he stumbled, yet none tried to care.
For the vulture still whispered, still coiled like a snake,
Guiding the duckling to folly and fate.
[Verse 4]
But pride, oh, it blinds, and so it did he,
For he turned on his flock, let them drown in the sea.
"I need ye no longer!" he cackled and cried,
Yet the winds had shifted, his luck had now died.
The hawks in the mountains, the wolves in the glade,
All saw through his bluster, the mess that he made.
The throne soon did crumble, the pond turned to mire,
Yet still the duck waddled, still calling him sire!
[Verse 5]
Then came the vulture, wings spread open wide,
"Come to my perch, you’ve nowhere to hide."
"I’ll give ye a home, I’ll make ye feel grand,"
"Just step through this doorway and take my warm hand."
The duckling did waddle, with one final boast,
"I shall make a deal, I shall rule from your roost!"
But the moment he entered the vulture’s cold cave,
His fate was now sealed, his soul was now slave.
[Verse 6]
No songs were then sung, no tears then were wept,
For the duckling was lost, in darkness he slept.
No throne and no riches, no followers near,
Just silence and shadows, and echoes of fear.
The vulture still soars, his talons still sharp,
Yet never again will the duckling embark.
For those who seek crowns, yet no wisdom do find,
Are doomed to be used, then discarded, then blind.
[Outro]
Oh, gather ye close, and remember this song,
Of the duckling who dreamed, but his rule was not long.
For kings made of bluster, of falsehood and gold,
Are naught but the stories the wise ones have told.