They Lament the Tulip King
Oh, ruler, whose divine worth
let us bear you on a sacred boat,
your weight too precious to include
the added burden of crew, mast and sails.
We will christen the ship in your name,
your perfect letters. The masses will
push you out beyond man's laws.
Visage too perfect for Viking fire.
Never touch land again, your condition
pristine in our Schrödinger's box
of belief. Condition: Forever mint.
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