The Dancing King
Damon Albarn
We pause and judge upon the reigning queen
Who looks like a ghost upon the money most
People would agree
Oh, the soulless dance upon the English dew
Across the green fields a procession grows
We are the out-of-time people of the rose, sing
We are the out-of-time people of the rose
The nightingale rejoices
The hour disapproves, the morning unrequited
The moon my heart did choose
Now the dancing king is the sun