She sits upon her tainted throne
Blood coloured painted lips
Face the colour of ivory bone
Nails, brilliant-sharpened tips
She sits upon her tainted throne
Lips curled in delighted scorn
Aghast at natural home grown
She looks like a rose but is a thorn
She sits upon her lonely throne
Connected with masses in spite
Pretty, painted, hard hearted crone
Her bark far worse than her bite
She sits upon her broken throne
Desperate in her slow demise
Alas her true colours shown
Slowly buried in her lies
