The Real King (MAFIA) Angkor City 2022 - Aaron SZ

I saw the autumn leaves Peel up off the street Take wing on the balmy breeze And sweep you off your feet And you blushed as they scooped you up On sugar maple wings To gaze down on the city below Ablaze with wondrous things Downy feathers kiss your face And flutter everywhere Reality is a lovely place But I wouldn't wanna live there I wouldn't wanna live there Weighed down by heavy lids And lunar lullabies I knew you were wide awake 'Cause you smile with your eyes Downy feathers kiss your face And flutter everywhere Reality is a lovely place But I wouldn't wanna live there From the green belt balcony The wildfires look so pretty Ponderosa canopy I'd never leave if it were up to me To the ruby redwood tree And to the velvet climbing ivy Painted all mahogany I'd never leave if it were up to me If it were up to me With a starry brush Paint the dusk venetian blue 'Cause in the evening hush You'll never believe the view And when the leaves return And their whisperings fill the night They'll freeze and burn Where fire and ice collide Where fire and ice collide Can you feel a silk embrace In the satin air? If we dissolve without a trace Will the real world even care? Downy feathers kiss your face And flutter everywhere Reality is a lovely place But I wouldn't wanna live there I wouldn't wanna live there I saw the autumn leaves Peel up off the street Take wing on the balmy breeze And sweep you off your feet

What in the world is going on? (What in the world is going on?) That pretty picture's looking wrong (Picture's looking wrong) If happy is all you wanna be Then I can see that the painting ain't painted with love What in the world is going on here? Your past is built upon your fear And happy is what you'll never be I'm afraid that you're lacking some free will Your real's not real Your real's not real What in the world is going on? (What in the world is going on?) Can't we all just get along? (Can't we get along?) Our candy is melting in the sun Can anyone be a martyr from hereafter? What in the world is going on now? Your farm is full of sacred cow And happy is what you'll never be I'm afraid that you're lacking some free will Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real Your real's not real

[Instrumental] [17 October: 1893] Such grim musings as have been occupying my mind of late unfortunately seem To suggest a possible link to the fate of my learned friend and colleague Doctor Ignatius Stone. That brilliant researcher was last seen in command Of all his faculties whilst on an expedition to the ruins of the Sumerian City of Ur, an undertaking which preceded my own work there by some eighteen Months. Stone was a gifted archaeologist who also dabbled, perhaps unwisely, In certain areas of the occult, particularly involving the various Grotesqueries once worshipped as Cthonic deities by the ancient denizens of Ur. Mere days before he ventured into the ziggurats of that foreboding, Mystery-haunted site, he had dispatched a letter to me claiming that he was On the verge of a truly staggering arcane discovery at Ur which would Simultaneously prove the cyclical nature of human civilisation as well as Immediately render redundant all previous theories on the origin of man. Whatever misfortune befell him within those aeons-old tombs robbed him Irrevocably of his sanity, for when his attendants finally managed to prise Open the stone door of the vast central catacomb, which had, I'm told, Inexplicably shut fast behind his three-man torch-bearing party, they found Two of the regularly stalwart men had seemingly expired of pure fright, While Stone was slumped against the north wall, staring vacantly into the Gloom, gibbering about visitations by beings so terrible that the very Contemplation of their existence would sunder a man's tenuous hold on the Reins of sanity. When I later visited him at the sanatorium in England, I found him to be a Tragic shell of the man I once knew, a man beset by imagined terrors and Ever wary of the immemorial horrors which he claimed lurked at the periphery Of humanity's perceptions. Indeed, I was glad I had taken a journal into Which I could transcribe his delusional rants, for he had a great deal to Tell me about The Dreamer In The Catacombs Of Ur:

Ehi tu, sai di drammi e di nostalgie Le stesse che non mi dici mai, ma che poi amerei Ehi tu, sei la donna che poi hai sempre sognato Che nessuno ha mai davvero capito, ma lo sai che io Mi prenderò cura di te Anche quando il mondo non sogna Anche quando di colpo la timidezza ti farà stare in silenzio Anche quando poi il tempo ci cambierà, guarderemo il sole che tramonta E come un graffio sulla pelle brucia ancora, ma sarà l'ultima volta Sarà la tua Ehi tu, sai di New York e un po' di me Un po' un casino come te e, sì, lo so che lo sai Ehi tu, sei la donna che poi ho sempre sognato Che ti senti un po' sola l'ho capito, ma lo so che lo sai Mi prenderò cura di te Anche quando il mondo non sogna Anche quando di colpo la timidezza ti farà stare in silenzio Anche quando poi il tempo ci cambierà, guarderemo il sole che tramonta E come un graffio sulla pelle brucia ancora, ma sarà l'ultima volta Sarà la tua Voglia di sbagliare e di lasciarti viziare Forse è presto per lasciarti andare e farti volare Voglio amarti fino a non finire, fino a non tornare Prenderò i nostri giorni e mi prenderò cura di te Anche quando il mondo non sogna Anche quando di colpo la timidezza ti farà stare in silenzio Anche quando poi il tempo ci cambierà, guarderemo il sole che tramonta E come un graffio sulla pelle brucia ancora, ma sarà l'ultima volta Mi prenderò cura di te Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na Oh, oh-uoh, uoh-oh-oh Mi prenderò cura di te