Queen

I’m thinking you probably don’t like me very much
The swearing, the drugs, the statements that seem misogynistic and such

Clothed in hungry tongues of jet black Israeli hair
Boarding a Snow White private jet with your debonnaire husband millionaire
His silken suits and savory cigars sow your sensuous salivation into the night air
Running your slender fingers in savage surrender through the locks of his silver brown hair
The glowing coils of Hippolyta’s truth wrapped tightly around your sumptuous thigh
I’m speechless; the thought of a woman shouldn’t be able to get a man this high

Please don’t forget about me
One day I may beg you to throw a battle tank at Ares my enemy
I yearn for you, your land, your tongue, your history
Perhaps one day by the illimitable power of divine mercy
You could find a way to somehow be a kind of patroness to me
I just can’t see any hope without the splendor of your majesty
There’ll be nothing for me
No victory

I say these last words as I wander far afield
I lay at your feet
Covered in blood
Drenched in tears
Forged in fire of insanity
My sword, my rifle, and my shield

To you belongs my pen, the sigil of my hated art
As also does the beleaguered beat of my embattled and broken old man heart