It's Always a Game Until the Queen Shows Her Face

 

A craving for madness and a taste for pain,

All you’ve got left is bits of shame.

Your bed of roses is finally lain,

But all that you know is a deck and a name.

 

You’re lifeless in solitude, bound at the hips,

With scars and the bruises and the queen calling medics.

Your voice is no attitude, no bite from your lips,

Nothing left to claim but the minds of heretics.