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.