One sits on the left wearing a crown of gold
A young man caught in a decadent whirl
He was jus a boy when his father died
A terrified heir, to soon face a corrosive world

Another sits in the center wearing a crown of thorns
Bandages over his caustic burns
Fated by destiny to take the pain
Too young to fail and too old to learn

The last sits on the right wearing a crown of roses
With red ringed bee stings on her forehead
A banal beauty to be sacrificed
To some new prince’s marriage bed