sitting on a line
a passage carved in time
caught in my throat
words i never spoke

hands tongue tied
living not to die
walking on a wire
debating with a lier

couldn't tell the truth
blood beneath a sharp tooth
apologies are all for nothing
If lament is only passing

fickle is the word
a fragile fleeting bird
with all this information
a papery grave situation

i’m no machine
just listen to the queen
who sits upon a dream
like a fat cat with cream

she has a lot to say
but spoken in her way
may not understand
at the shake of a hand

the princess and the pauper
remain at odds with the robber
still here i am,
neither the wolf nor the lamb