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You can all come back now.
All of you.
Romanovs, sort it out.
Charles, grow some spine.
Find a Paleologos in some diner
Muttering over his corned beef hash
Grab a Hohenzollern.

Bourbons or Bonapartes would do.
Vittorio Emmanuel must have an heir around someplace.
All the little ones, too.
The dukes and earls and doo wop doo wop —
Bring them all back.

Clear out our windsor-knotted bandits
Our elected thieves and traitors
All these creeps and thugs The People chose —
Come back now, y’all
Maybe you really did have a divine right.
We certainly don’t.

The People have made a mess of everything,
Far worse than it was in your genteel days.
Or maybe I just lack historical sense.
Or you all lacked modern means of oppression.

I don’t know,
But I’m willing to take my chances.
You couldn’t do worse than this bunch —
Could you?