Your cloud shadows your every move,
Raining on the centerpiece you hold so proud,
Drenching the sight of your onlookers,
Makeup smears running down your cheek,
Dampened dress, torn, virginal white.
Exits blocked by torch-bearing mob scene,
Pedigree failure to access path to sanctuary,
Shelter momentarily.

Let this not be what we’ve come to see,
Let me please return to what it used to be,

High atop your float, watch our steps,
Greatly outnumbered, your shelter makes a path,
And becomes aligned with your public,
As the first stone is cast at your heel,
You awake in your bedroom,
Your frantic feet clutter to the nearest window,
Dispair grips your face as the first white pillar ignites,

Let this not be what we’ve come to see,
Let me please return to what it used to be,

Used to be.

Yes, I know you’ve wrong us all.
Yes, I know you’ve missed the ball.
Yes, we cannot be stopped now.
Yes, you’ve crushed your mighty crown.
Yes, I will be in the crowd.
Yes, we are in the cloud that shrouds.
Yes, we have all been set loose.
Yes, your neck is in the noose.
Yes, it’s tight around your throat.
Yes, the sheep will hang your goat.
Yes, the needle tore the seam.
Yes, this is another dream.

Don’t wake me.

Let this not be what we’ve come to see,
Let me please return to what it used to be.

Used to be.

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