The Madness of King Dave

They think I’m mad he he, what do they know? The fools, they should be begging for my forgiveness don’t they know who I am, obviously their true vision has been distorted in some way, they can’t really see me, not the real me, oh God what have I done? Why do they persecute me so, wasn’t it the right thing to do? It wasn’t regicide they were from peasant stock, my lovely children, my lovely wife, I couldn’t have my successors, mongrels, reigning here in my God given, and God chosen role, yes that was it, it was God, and how else does someone become the messenger of God and a powerful ruler of men in his absence, I feel it in my veins, coursing through my heart, blue, like an injection of ice, no feeling, can’t make decisions with too many feelings, they get in the way, like apologies for our actions, why should we apologise? God made us in his image, therefore, logically we think as he does, he wouldn’t apologise would he? Why would he? It’s cold here, they want me dead I can sense it, evil-doers and do-gooders always interfering in what is obviously right, I’ll show them he he, they won’t kill me, I won’t give them the pleasure, they can spend their idle hours collecting my blood, the ungrateful distorted peasants mopping me out of the floor, I hope it poisons them, it will, of course, no jacket today, I can reach my veins at last…