Our Beloved Queen
She wore her curls much like a crown
Tearing up our paper town
Dragging her dress through thorns and brier
Running from her self-made fire
And to the lips as bitter as snow
She took a needle and began to sew
Soon blood ran down the golden thread
Staining her hands a crimson red
From her chest no heartbeat came
And every man's face looked the same
As she ran through streets of dust
Dirtied by her shame and lust
A golden cross lay on her chest
Heavy against her sinful breast
As she reached the city's end
She threw it in the river bend
She was nothing but a pretty face
Sewn together by ribbons and lace
And when her world came crashing down
No one was there to watch her drown