Death looks lovely wrapped in silver satin,
Strung on the back of a Chiavari chair.
Pools of mahogany
they exit me,
Everyone will know what went on in here.

But he smiles through his teeth,
alcohol, rope, sliced and seized
an accident you see, Gentlemen.
She had a mind of her own.

Politics, a tricky game
it's easy to forget which way you came
when your only intention is to rise up.
It's a wonder to see the trail of bodies
that hold up streets paved with gold.

He forgot about me or so it may seem,
no sun to nurture his seed,
a dance of political schemes with a woman as she.
Even after death, I don't give up so easily,
He can hide from the blame, but he can't hide from his dreams.