camelot

living for someone else, that is what my story has been...

turning my head as though it never mattered much, these little things.

there is no camelot, there is no camelot, just me.

there can be no sense of permanence with the slavers bricks which built this fortress.

the hands which laid this foundation, these are the hands I use which are detested due to such restraints that bound them.

instruments with no use if they contain such resentment and history.

there can be no camelot when you are not able to see my naked eyes.

I am ruined in front of you when I cannot speak with such natural tongue.

there is no camelot, there is no camelot, just me.

no mystery, no riddle or rhymes to follow, just me.

nothing more than dust and blood, no more than tears and love.

wounds and wear, pain and regret, and yet a little light is left inside me, waiting for you to see.