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[written by king Stephanos while under house arrest, in utter boredom and a general dismissal of living much longer]
How shall I describe the phenomenon that is Prince Irakles?
A man, a prince, a ruler of the land through no fault of his own
A tireless worker, concerned only for the good of Taengea
But who decides what is good for the kingdom?
Is it the king? Divinely appointed by the gods and the Fates?
No! It is Prince Irakles. He knows best.
He has the wisdom of jellyfish
the thin lips of a mongoose
the beauty of a harlot in the morning sunlight!
His company is akin to a hoard of bleating goats
His voice is as soothing as yowling cats
But he is loyal! Oh yes, so loyal
To Taengea!
What is Taengea to Prince Irakles?
Is it the good of the people?
Their happiness?
Nay! Taengea's good is wagon wheels rolling toward war
To send Taengea's sons to spill their blood on foreign soil
He alone knows what is best.
Fret not about his treacherous heart
Or the coward's death he awarded a good man
We can trust a man whose ambition knows no bounds, can we not?
We can trust a blind man, who desecrates his family's honor
Oh, Prince Irakles. To see you is to feel the chill of illness coming over me
When I am in your presence, I think only of any other place to be
Your sons despise you, you pay your friends, and your mistress will not be there at your end
But live on, Prince Irakles. Live on.
Sit your bottom, round and stubborn as an ass's on the Taengean throne,
and comfort yourself that it was for Taengea's good. Not your own.
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