She sleeps on a bed of roses and finds a new way to lie each day, forever changing poses.
The thorns may sting but if she continues to sing she would never feel a thing.
The world she knows only grows while she dwells in the shelves and the roses.
She sings to an empty audience and feels so very seen.
The battles fought are all for naught if she can’t be the queen.
The chips aren’t just for poker, and hair ties aren’t simple or plain.
She left it all to answer the call and run until she can feel sane.

Find me a frame
To capture the moments in my brain
Now I write you ballads and sing the refrains
The stories are all that remain

She sleeps on a bed above the abyss, thinking that you couldn’t possibly miss
The cries for a reprise and the screams for a different scene.
The moments when you saw it too.
She jokes and sings and always brings a new punchline at the end of the fight.
The masks she wears are how she bears the pain that’s already set in.
The light has left her long ago and she’s acting as if she can possibly win.
She took a chance to flee from romance and flirt with the dancers in her mind.

Find me a note
To summon from deep in my throat
Now I write you ballads and sing the refrains
The stories are all that remain