I took my pen,
I wrote the words,
I gave you the credit,
You deserved.
I didn't lie,
Exaggerate.
I didn't cry,
Or turn to hate.
I kept in check,
Told only truth,
But without emotion,
It wasn't much use.
I laid it out,
The whole sad story,
I gave me evil,
Where I gave you glory.
I cast the parts,
Complete bias.
They called it art,
I called it crisis.
Our story resides,
In a thousand books,
About a princess,
And a crook,
Who steals a heart,
And becomes the king,
He plays his part,
We rot in wings.
When curtains close,
And people clap,
We count our woes,
And curse our traps.
For all our charms,
And our assets,
We raised alarms,
And set caskets.
Now we play,
Second fiddle,
But the crowd went deaf,
In the middle.
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