There are not enough trees around!
No lush green and dark brown to appreciate.
The sea is not as blue as it used to be.
No more cool breeze to ease one's wait.
The roads emit the heat, that was once within you.
Your blood's cold now, it doesn't boil enough.
Your heart wanders for love, but is it love you seek?
It's the warmth of strange bodies, lest you admit.
Are the grapes not sweet enough?
Or is your tongue used to bitter wine.
You smile through your red stained teeth;
The red of blood and not love, my child.
'Heavy is the head that wears the crown,'
But do you care about your subjects' frown?
'Tis heavy, true. But it's the weight of gold;
The gold you got in exchange of their bones.
Their flesh, rotting, spewing blood,
Filled with maggots, surrounded by flies.
You fill your ears with her moans of pleasure.
And you shut your eyes, enjoying your own exile.
In bliss you remain of your constructed happiness;
Cursing all the while those cruel 'tragedies’.
But need you look at your deadly sins, child.
For you have smothered the beauty with your own hands.