"Sin With a Grin" lyrics, Shinedown
Thank you for reminding me to sin with a grin.
When I was still attending the seminary, preparing to enter the priesthood, my fellow students and I were often led to wrestle with the question of whether human beings are, by nature, inclined towards good or evil. The doctrine of Original Sin, of course, would indicate that we are, at the least, working uphill from the very beginning. I, like most of my fellows, wanted to believe that men are innately good and moral.
Years later, now that I have ascended to the throne which I then had no ambition to sit upon, I find I have learned a great deal about the subject, insofar as my own self is concerned.
I believe myself to be a good King. Under my rule, England has flourished and her wealth increased. She is more secure and stronger than ever, since my father wrested rule for our family. And her people, I am told, are quite happy. In the least I am a dedicated King, determined to do whatever I must to ensure the security and power of England. Our land is small, but mighty, and I as ruler must be no less mighty.
On the battlefields of France, I discovered that I could be a fierce and fearsome warrior. I reveled in the art of war, and knew with every stroke of my sword that I was doing the work of the Lord and of England. I do the same from the throne, bending to no foreign power, accepting no less than what is due our great nation, making the difficult decisions with mind and heart set firmly on the course.
As a flame is fueled by the wood and air, so too am I fueled by something within. My strength, my steel, my fortitude... it springs from my deepest self. And that place, I have found, is dark. It is dark by necessity, as sometimes what might seem to be an evil is for the greater good. It is a hungry and roaring place, and burning constantly like torch never extinguished.
My mistresses, it must be told, have seen the edges of this place. It springs from me in the bedchamber in much the way it did on the field of war, with great noise and clamour. I feed that place and satiate it with every time I tear their clothes and spread their legs. The flame rises with each cunt I spear, and roars with every drop of my seed that I spill.
But that place, that dark energy within me, is hungry and only partly tamed. So many of my mistresses have learned this fact to their dismay. They have shied away from the things I would demand of them, have refused to surrender their entire wills and selves to my hungers. They have turned and run, leaving me with frustration and wasted energy.
Until Anne Boleyn.
My love, my life, my beloved servant, my most perfect mistress. She alone has seen into the dark of me and accepted every shade and every shadow. She alone has given unto me everything that she is, and everything she has to give. She alone understands what it is in my nature that needs to be sated and stroked, and desires nothing more than to ensure that I am the strongest and surest ruler that England has ever known.
She begs more beautifully than the finest poetry, screams my name more sweetly than the greatest song, and looks more exquisitely entrancing with tears in her eyes than the most revered painting.
And while my cock is sheathed inside her, I know that there is no other person in the entire world who is my true companion. No one who frees the darkness within me, who celebrates it and desires it, and welcomes it so that it is spent with her and not wasted upon rash political decisions and poorly thought-out actions. No other person who knows my heart for all its desires and matches them with her own.
She is, and will always be, my true Queen.
(677)
Thank you for reminding me to sin with a grin.
When I was still attending the seminary, preparing to enter the priesthood, my fellow students and I were often led to wrestle with the question of whether human beings are, by nature, inclined towards good or evil. The doctrine of Original Sin, of course, would indicate that we are, at the least, working uphill from the very beginning. I, like most of my fellows, wanted to believe that men are innately good and moral.
Years later, now that I have ascended to the throne which I then had no ambition to sit upon, I find I have learned a great deal about the subject, insofar as my own self is concerned.
I believe myself to be a good King. Under my rule, England has flourished and her wealth increased. She is more secure and stronger than ever, since my father wrested rule for our family. And her people, I am told, are quite happy. In the least I am a dedicated King, determined to do whatever I must to ensure the security and power of England. Our land is small, but mighty, and I as ruler must be no less mighty.
On the battlefields of France, I discovered that I could be a fierce and fearsome warrior. I reveled in the art of war, and knew with every stroke of my sword that I was doing the work of the Lord and of England. I do the same from the throne, bending to no foreign power, accepting no less than what is due our great nation, making the difficult decisions with mind and heart set firmly on the course.
As a flame is fueled by the wood and air, so too am I fueled by something within. My strength, my steel, my fortitude... it springs from my deepest self. And that place, I have found, is dark. It is dark by necessity, as sometimes what might seem to be an evil is for the greater good. It is a hungry and roaring place, and burning constantly like torch never extinguished.
My mistresses, it must be told, have seen the edges of this place. It springs from me in the bedchamber in much the way it did on the field of war, with great noise and clamour. I feed that place and satiate it with every time I tear their clothes and spread their legs. The flame rises with each cunt I spear, and roars with every drop of my seed that I spill.
But that place, that dark energy within me, is hungry and only partly tamed. So many of my mistresses have learned this fact to their dismay. They have shied away from the things I would demand of them, have refused to surrender their entire wills and selves to my hungers. They have turned and run, leaving me with frustration and wasted energy.
Until Anne Boleyn.
My love, my life, my beloved servant, my most perfect mistress. She alone has seen into the dark of me and accepted every shade and every shadow. She alone has given unto me everything that she is, and everything she has to give. She alone understands what it is in my nature that needs to be sated and stroked, and desires nothing more than to ensure that I am the strongest and surest ruler that England has ever known.
She begs more beautifully than the finest poetry, screams my name more sweetly than the greatest song, and looks more exquisitely entrancing with tears in her eyes than the most revered painting.
And while my cock is sheathed inside her, I know that there is no other person in the entire world who is my true companion. No one who frees the darkness within me, who celebrates it and desires it, and welcomes it so that it is spent with her and not wasted upon rash political decisions and poorly thought-out actions. No other person who knows my heart for all its desires and matches them with her own.
She is, and will always be, my true Queen.
(677)