A golden crown is floating on a sea of thorns and royal blood,
A valiant king is sitting on a throne of silver swords which rots,
A young lady is looking at him defiantly, her eyes are sparkly,
A bold queen brandishes a dagger, she murdered the bragger.
Victory reigns over her subjects, none of them dares to object,
She is sovereign thanks to her killing, should someone riot, they would attend a beheading.
A coppery goblet containing swirling wine of a red colour,
She lifts it to her thin, rosy lips and takes a couple of sips,
She drinks it down, seconds later blood streams down,
From her nose and mouth, she screams, but her guards laugh.
Falling to her knees, she cries and prays for her soul to the Lord;
Dead, but still a 'Miss', they'll mourn her and play seventh chords.
Her ambition resulted in her tragedy, which was clearly long-overdue.
Her vanity caused her painful agony, she was strongly subdued.
A golden crown is floating on a sea of thorns and royal blood,
Victory's victory dried up soon enough, her life will never bud.
