King

Contemplations, which turn bones to dust Feeling like I am going to collapse in on myself Tear my eyes out before I give up Tears bring out the decrepit years Yet this is all that has ever been known Sitting here on my futile throne Within the boundaries of the kingdom of my distraught thoughts All of them my own Look at how the melancholy has grown So proud Disenchanted with the imaginary crowd Can do as I please No one real in here with me Except the ones I make believe for company Jesters to entertain Whores to take away the pain Dead authors provide conversation to stop the onset of going totally insane In the volatile spiritual kingdom under my reign.