"I was his brother, Ralpachen's brother
Born of the same flesh and blood.
He who is one of the Three Great Dharma Kings,
He who followed what the other two believed
He who spread what the other two brought in.
And I, his brother, had a different view.
I believed in what we had,
A set of philosophy born out of our land
A set of tenet as good, if not better.
And I loved my country, oh I did.
I was as human as anyone in our land
I was smart as any of the Dharma Kings
I had no horns poking from my head
I had no tail hanging from behind.
But he killed me with a shot of an arrow
That monk called Lhalung Paldor
Who wore long black robes
Who rode a mighty black stallion
Who came in a flash of light
Who ran away across the river
Who turned white after crossing.
He now adorns your history books.
And I became the infidel, enemy of the dharma,
Misjudged by history as the misfit king.
But I loved my country, oh I did.
I wasn't as bad as your history books say
But that fratricidal maniac monk killed me.
For what?
The history has answered --
One hundred years of chaos
A fragmented nation
The end of the warrior's bloodline.
My dream for tomorrow was erased.
My vision for the future mismanaged.
My name debased to a condescending metaphor.
I watched all these happened from where I am now.
And I am tired of endless blunders
That rape and wreck the people I love.
But I can tell you one thing for sure --
I was the last king of Tibet.
I was killed in 842.
The king is dead.
There are no more kings.
You are all tsampa-eaters of equal standing."
