BISHO

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Lonely Little Queen, Let me tell you that it’s all just a dream. That blood on your hand won’t come off like you planned, You’re losing your grip on your royal command Up in your castle made of sand, Your head is pounding like a military band, Are you sure that the banging, the pounding, the panging isn’t just another scam? Aren’t you tired love Of always looking over your shoulder? Aren’t you tired, of stomping around on your battle ground Burning down your bridges Burning down your house There’s no one to hurt you, no one to desert you but you go on anyhow Burning down your bridges Burning down your house You’re killing yourself more than the law allows.