Too Busy To Have Feelings

Nothing could take me down; I was Queen Midas Every thought golden. My life full of fawners and yessers. Majestic, regal, I set the fashion world on fire. People grabbed at my robes, hoping to get a bit of my silver dust. I was invincible, incredible, indelible, illuminated, laminated. Even my mother could not call me without an appointment time. I hobnobbed with the wealthiest, prissiest, snobbiest hobnobbers. Was I happy? I do not know; I guess I was too busy to have feelings. When I fell from my tower of Me, I broke into pieces all the way down Even before I smashed into smithereens in the street below. I did not have enough fingers left to pick up a guitar There was no singing for my mouth had to be wired back on. Disappointed that I had not died, my fans got their money back. In one instant I had gone from Queen to quip, skipping quirky. Don’t ask me any questions. For I have no answers. I am lying here, waiting for my mother to tell me good-bye. Queen Midas is dead; depressed, discouraged. Despair is at hand.