Madness in My Royal City

Madness. Everywhere.
Even my servants sing of
Thousands and tens of thousands.
He is here, they sing,
Like some mad savior,
A mad savior seeking refuge,
A mad savior running
From that madman in Israel.

Selah, shewbread, priest of Nob;
He utters nothing but madness.

My mad servants sing to
Recognize, to herald,
To welcome, to embrace,
To lionize the lion, to
(Slyly) warn of his (sly) arrival
In my royal city,
To find refuge or, perhaps,
More tens of thousands?

Selah, shewbread, priest of Nob;
What is this lionized insanity?

Some of his tens of thousands,
Some of his fame were
My people of Gath.
His first was our champion,
Our giant who stopped an army in fear,
Except for the wretched shepherd boy
With his smooth stones of death.
Flung with careless abandon and deadly aim.

He mutters a darkness of
Selah, showbread, priest of Nob.

He comes to Gath, he comes
To my royal city as a madman,
A crazed mind;
This, the slayer of tens of thousands?
This, who holds a dagger of fear
At the heart of Israel’s king?
This, possessed by demons, spittle in
His beard, pounding on my walls?

I hear the madness inside my own head,
Selah, showbread, priest of Nob.

We have enough insanity in Gath,
Enough servants singing wildly,
Enough madmen to fill a city.
Send him back, back
To his own.
Let the servants of his own king,
His own Achish,
Let them sing of tens of thousands.

Selah, showbread, priest of Nob,
The madman carries a giant’s sword.