impress me, your majesty...with dreams that you conjure, you might be the girl across the street who thinks she's too stylish for war and death, fatigue and sadness but i'm royalty. i use my throne as a refuge and i demand my own privacy while i form a new dynasty, so impress me your highness, see?
i don't live for the titles, the adulation, the vivid fantasies that run through your head when you see me, be they good or bad. i don't live for the respect because my own is sufficient, i'm royalty and i know it, i'm an urban artist with beautiful scars, so modern but like mozart my words send you racing for the hills and into hiding, so impress me, your majesty.
i hide for a purpose in plain sight, i live in silence for a useful period of time before i remove my mask and don my crown and you can't even try and claim my throne, but in any case your majesty, you should try and impress me. i demand your deference and reverence and perseverance, your majesty because i am your highness, see?
it's the classic clash of perfect language and imperfect disrespect that i exude, and there's many feelings that i can exhume from your hollow heart, it's just a small part of my art. gather round and watch the throne fall and the kingdom crunch while the killers fight among themselves and kill royalty slowly.
the northern wind brings with it the king who exhales in the wintry air. there's now a trend that everyone will fall on their sword for him and mothers will weep icy tears. so as i sit here, with my legs crossed on my throne, all i ask is for you to impress me, your majesty.
i am your highness please, so impress me, your majesty.
there's a hidden pearl somewhere hovering around me, eating cake and drinking lazily, slurring her words with a husky tone of voice that i never notice unless i stop and drop my pen, scatter red ink like blood on my white shirt.
stay cool, she's not about to slit my throat or suffocate me in her hands. she knows i am royalty and she knows she's my majesty.
