When all is said and done you'll be nothing more than a shorting star-
Your memory will be faint with the recognition that I once knew you-
Your light will have faded and you'll be one with the darkness that fills you-
When all is said and done you may be able to call me names and fill my soul with sadness but you'll never break my spirit-
I am one with the distant sunsets and the way the clouds look different in another state-
I am one with the way your eyes open wide with fear of love as you say my name-
You are the downfall to my kingdom to come and you were my cottage past-
You are the negative energy keeping me halted along the path to happiness-
But when all is said and done you'll be nothing more than a shooting star-

Expertly deprived of sleep,
the King slithers across a
safehouse living room, robes
tracing a circle.
His salutations are dead.
His peasants come apart from him.
They don't
understand, but they like to think
They do.
He is “working toward
Improving the lifestyle of many, and to
give the people the privilege of...”
Yet he is not,
But let us pay loyalty for his prize,
For it's a red apple
which pushes him forth on the blood-red Carpet
of Vain—he takes a bite,
and this is how he must live his life
In order to live.

The city is his sanctuary
A place to abscond
When he starts to wonder, “Does the
world deserve
to have my conscious body, the way
that they do?”
The King whispers this lamentably.