Clever wit and a bit of poise
That is how I master boys
Slithering, curling at my heels
Promises falling from the mouths of eels
Lies with immeasure, not a thing they care about
If a snake won't hold its tongue, I'll cut it out
With determination she levelly employs,
I am she, master of boys.

Kind precision, and a tad cruel
The girls are whom I rule
Skipping, running at my embrace
Coy suggestions, a fox on the chase
Laughter so sinister, smiles so sincere
When they expose their heart, I'll shoot it clear
With care she freely hurls
I am she, ruler of girls

Patient consideration, ever chaste
My spell over children is done with haste
Innocently stumbling, blind at my skirts
Birds crying out for attention, they know the world hurts
Fixing our mistakes, unaware of their own
Refuse my views and your world will be overthrown
Unable, yet yearning to help them,
I am she, captivator of children

Discerning defiance and a certain edge of humility,
Have I not found a way to draw you to me?
Standing still, gazing into my eyes
Old God who has seen under this guize
Watching, judging, patiently waiting
Do not challenge the power I've been dating!
She gives way, as she is prone to do,
I am she, the one humbled by you

I am both angered by being abandoned,
And adamant and understanding that it is anyone's choice to leave
But when I die, do not dare say you are devastated.
Do not dare speak my name, nor mourn.
As I respect that I am difficult and you must leave,
Respect me when I say I do not want your grief or your thoughts,
Or your tarnished memories of me.
If you've chosen to be gone, then leave be.

These days I've been drinking ***** like water,
Trying to laugh a little harder,
To drown out the world

I want to go to bed
It's not a question, it just is
I'm a broken little doll,
But I can't feel a thing
Drunk or sober,
Whole or bleeding,
Dead or sleeping,
No, I can't feel a thing

Well it just doesn't sit well,
That I've taken this throne from the ill,
I **** myself just to dream,
And dream of killing myself just to lie still.
I may be King, I am King on my own,
Yet the peasant I was, is crying for home,
And this crown cuts me deep, severs the nerves
That I've bled, just to bleed, into this 'future' I've been led to believe-
Is everything we've all been working towards

Good morning, moonshine.