Won't Bend the Knee

Paroles de « Won't Bend the Knee »

Here rises Guillaume Plante...
A sharp mind beneath that quiet, shining dome.
A king with no throne.
An empire with no borders.
And never, ever... will he bend the knee.

Cold light gleams off his glasses’ frame,
His bald head’s bare, but his mind’s aflame.
He said — “Kiwis? Man made.” Just like that.
I laughed… but in his world, it’s fact.

He dreams of a land where kiwis were made,
A stoner empire in smoky crusades.
He sits in the dark, with his joint aglow,
And whispers: “wont bend the knee.” like a truth he knows.

He walks without noise, yet his rule takes hold,
His silence strikes louder than stories told.

He’s tall and calm, but reigns like a god,
His throne’s a couch, but it bends no law.
He reads the future in the fabric’s crease,
And screams: “WONT BEND THE KNEE!” in midnight peace.

He’s fly, he’s high, but never hollow,
A smoking prophet in a world that won’t slow.
His mind’s aglow with fierce desire,
Guillaume Plante , a king, and something higher.

While you sleep, he forges unseen cities
With visions no one’s ever cracked.
Galaxies roll off his tongue like cat names,
Even Gandhi would rage-quit on his path.

His kingdom grows where kiwis reign,
On a couch-throne crowned by a wrinkled brain.
Not a warlord, but a prophet in slides,
He sees through screens and all your lies.

He’s fly, he’s high, but never hollow,
A smoking prophet in a world that won’t slow.
His mind’s aglow with fierce desire,
Guillaume Plante , a king, and something higher.

He wasn’t born here... ho nooo
He drifted in from a forgotten realm, cloaked in mist.
A kingdom with no kings… no noise…
Just thoughts. And stillness. And him.

Guillaume Plante.
A wandering spark, among cosmic debris.
A quiet king, who holds the key.
And no… he will ever bend the knee.