Casabian swung his wooden sword,
climbing the yellow stone,
his friends ahead and behind,
all chasing the yellow throne.
a swing of the wooden butt,
to tommy next door he struck,
mahou a kick of sand,
racing forward, no boy but man.
the summer leaves to fall,
what built in spring by all,
as casabian fought his way,
all knew the yellow stone day.
oh the yellow stone day,
something we knew, but could never say
the ember eyes and flurrying swipes,
the crunch of shoes and heedless strikes.
minas whose hair he loved to stroke,
a yank, a pull, no lover’s dote,
down the stone, she was thrown
he looks ahead, to the yellow throne.
oh the yellow stone, oh the yellow throne,
something we knew, but could never say,
our heart’s desires, our dreams aspires,
behind all souls, when children play.
So on the chair he sat above the rest,
casabian king, all wealth his chest,
poor little king, on the yellow throne,
it was all his, but all his alone.
