Dead Dreams In The Dirt

You can wear a crown of roses,
And you can die upon your cross,
You can sing your psalms of madness,
And martyrdom your love,
You can climb inside your worries,
And play with thoughts of pain,
You can cry out for attention,
But still no one knows your name.

Vanity is your enemy,
It chains you to yourself,
It fills your heart with apathy,
It's all you and no one else,
And a trail of rotting corpses,
That died upon your love,
Sacrificed in your illusion.
They're dead dreams in the dirt.

As your flower slowly withers,
And your kingdom crashes down,
You look around for sympathy,
But there is none to be found,
So you renovate your conscience
To ponder what went wrong,
But you still allude to vanity,
None of this was your fault.

In a last attempt to sell yourself,
You bit the poisoned apple,
You fell asleep perchance to dream,
As princess of the fable,
But the fairy tales inside your head,
Have dark, tormented twists,
And a voice calls out from loneliness,
For you to slit your wrists.

Kiss your ephemeral flame goodbye,
As your shine turns to shadow,
No one knows you anymore,
It's time to reap your meadows,
Feel the breeze blow through your hair
As it gathers up your thoughts,
How can one so beautiful
Be a dead dream in the dirt?