Did Caeser see it coming,
at the theater of Pompey?
Did he walk into it knowing?
Or was it just another day?
Was he torn to pieces by the mob?
Or was it much more mild?
(Real friends stab you in the front,
according to Oscar Wilde)
Did he grab onto Brutis,
Looking deep into his eye?
Or did he stumble to his knees
waiting patiently to die?
I fear my friends, we'll never know
what the Ides of March did hold.
Where cowards killed a mighty man
back in those days of old.
I hope you knew you wily king.
For you I write this ballad.
this ones for Caesar, son of Rome,
Alas, now just a salad.
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