There is a king upon a hill,
in silent sadness, sitting still.

With tempest eyes and ragged air,
He sits upon his royal chair.

Afraid to breach the rocky wall,
He’s never seen the sky at all.

There He sits, upon His throne,
in His castle, all alone.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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