Closing rifts in hatred can **** a monarchy,
But morale grows to **** it anyhow, you see...

A year can pass like light through glass,
But still you’ll never see...

Fighting scrapes,
Ignoring scars,
Can only make debris,
Of what will never be…

Listen close,
To how they speak,
Of listless killing sprees,
Or whisper to the trees and croon,
Their sacrilegious plea…

Still you haunt these rigid spores,
Of flowered enemies,
But dawn’s wreath may only cometh,
When your heart concedes,
To crooked tales and bloodied gales,
Of life amongst the free…

O, Dear Soletta, have I failed you,
The King is dead,
Now, let us **** the Queen...