A carbon copy of old kings who bathe in riches
A feather dipped in ink for all of the wrong reasons
There's no use to breathe
When the air's breathed by the heir of thieves
Milked for what it's worth
Not much else, but gold
A desert king or queen
Beautiful and old
There's no use to be
A book drawn up by the likes of me
Why are you not scared?
What makes you feel so free?
Why are you not scared like me?
Why are you not scared?
What makes you feel so free?
Why are you not scared of me?
