But I never sing along, because I think
Of Cinderella on her throne, queen of drink
Not pretty, now, and the birds and mice along
The walls are more loyal than the servants
That resent how she came from them and they
Will never be like her, the dust of cinder that they
Leave inside her napkins and pillowcases and ants
Allowed to crawl among the crumbs left on dresses
She swears they are doing it on purpose, but they
Swear it is just the mice and bird caresses
For her whole life she lies awake at night, pray
To keep this place in life won suddenly say nothing
Hold all the night inside your chest, keep breathing.
No comments:
Post a Comment