Old King Cole was a brutal soul, and a bloody red soul had he
He called for his mead and his gun so cold, and he called for his little pigs three
Now every piggy had a razor blade and sharpened it with glee
Oh, far and near, they all learn fear from King Cole and his little pigs three

Factories churn, bodies burn
Stars are shining bright
It's your turn, now you learn
How King Cole feasts tonight

Old King Cole was not missold, of years he had a hundred score
The dark appliance of infernal science would give him millennia more
And he would watch as the suns burned out, collapsing from their core
Oh, never to forgive he would eternal live, his hands dyed red by gore

Factories churn, bodies burn
Stars are shining bright
It's your turn, now you learn
How King Cole feasts tonight

Old King Cole had conquered and stole the wealth of a thousand suns
Surrounded was he by bodyguards three, who murdered for their sovereign's fun
Arrayed in armour black as ebony, it did no good to run
Whatever the task, the grim pig mask would tell you that your life was done

Factories churn, bodies burn
Stars are shining bright
It's your turn, now you learn
How King Cole feasts tonight

"In the centre of Zantine, capitol city of New Constantinople, there stood a vast palace
Cavernous halls by their hundreds were cared for by staff too numerous to count, while below, tunnels and passageways unused for a dozen lifetimes sprawled under the city like a spider's web
Reaching every nook and lurking place. Somewhere at the centre of this labyrinth
There stood a small, unremarkable room, roughly hewn from thick black rock
Where King Cole sat on his white throne
His shrivelled frame seemed all the more withered on its ivory bulk
Surrounded, as always, by the three little pigs: silent guardians who never spoke as the blood pooled on the floor before their ruler. The feast was soon to begin."

Old King Cole had a tale he told to those brought before his throne
Immense and white it gleamed in the night, the colour of sun-bleached bone
He'd whisper softly in their ear, the words were never known
None could tell what he said, save for the dead and the three little pigs alone

Factories churn, bodies burn
Stars are shining bright
It's your turn, now you learn
How King Cole feasts tonight