Moving to a soul,
There is nothing to making flight —
Rather it is of the night,
It is of my death.
A dream amongst all plights,
A change is but the dream,
To venture what guess of what world,
All to be selfish with what I need in my hands,
I won’t move until I own what is in me.
A ghost —
A face of one who won’t let go,
To go through the world in hatred,
Is where the life to be selfish ends,
When the crown is no longer in existence.
Among all that thrives and builds in earnest,
It is the life to be as you be,
That lives in the mind of the owner,
The place where the human of many feelings —
Only hoped to exist,
To be among the impossibles of what mess,
The dress that covers the heart and body,
We’ll have the sound of whistling —
The insanity lives,
The mind stands inside the empty filled abyss,
A loud one to fill a crown that has no throne,
No room to take away me from the strays of thread,
I’ll take my throne,
Even when I am dead.
I’ll walk among those that see me nothing,
That live in the world of empty,
Of broken things,
I’ll see the crown made anew,
Gold and gemstones,
None will be safe from me and my judgment to lay —
All to their hands and feet,
Nothing will change the hell I’ll wave in one hand,
None will be without —
My selfish taking,
I will the dreamer with the selfish appeal.