Some lyrics of my own.

Song

The Jester

A jester speaks, with joyful mind,

"The word, it holds great power, you'll find,

It shapes all things upon this earth,

Whatever can be, and comes to birth."

He bends his ladle to and fro,

Makes it snap, a merry show,

"Behold the possibilities,

Through words, new worlds we can seize!"

In word soup, his passion deep,

He dips his ladle, takes a peep,

"Broken Language," he calls with glee,

"All that can be said, oh gee!"

The order that guides people's ways,

He honors it, but doesn't praise,

He thinks and speaks, unconstrained and free,

And spoons his soup, so merrily.

"Oh dear," he sighs, "when will time unfold,

Where everyone is free, their story told,

Where doubt is not a sin, you see,

And each can speak so openly?"

But some find stubbornness a blight,

Too late in life, it comes to light,

And so they don't forgive the jester's way,

Who bold and free, joins in the fray.

How aloof, this quirky man,

Serious, yet odd, without a plan,

His mind so high, few follow him,

Still much remains within the soup's brim.

So are the things of this world, we've had our fill,

Before our minds could grasp their will,

Yet he mocks, he laughs, explains with glee,

And fights against hypocrisy.

"He who laughs best, laughs last," 'tis true, Says the jester,

"Dear folks, good night to you!"

He stays the same, small and refined,

And leads us with him, in his mind.

The word soup cook, whatever he may brew,

Sometimes wise, sometimes foolish, yet always true,

A wizard of words, that's clear to see,

"Jester" he remains, eternally.

So let him speak, let him be free,

He passes time with jokes and glee,

The poet himself, almost enthralled,

What will become of the jester, bold?

Until tomorrow, there's time enough,

Perhaps a new pastime will rise,

From jesters's soup, colorful and tough,

Then we'll have something to laugh at, guys!