She marks the queen line of her reign
And her kingdom is built on pain 
With little scatterings of love
That seem to have come from above
As gifts from on high
But we all die
And it’s something she cannot avoid
So she just gets annoyed
With me when I speak my mind
And I live my life feeling left behind 
As I try to meet the mark of high standard
But the old group have all disbanded 
And I’m left on my own 
The flowers are grown 
But I cannot smell their fragrant bloom
When trouble is in the room
The kind of grey that kills the butterfly 
And I don’t know why
Anyone would reside
In a place they feel they have to hide
Their true self from all and sundry
And it is just a bank holiday Monday
That I make the muse
And the power to choose
Is just leaving the nest 
Of the season that knows me best 

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