You look at me and see a royal in a chateau,
But whatever you see is a puppet show,
Of earthly paradise, a faux tableau.
Innocent like a doe, or simply slow,
Before, of such practices, I did not know;
Here they told me it’s called quid pro quo.
There are no cracks in the armor I’ve constructed against many a foe.
Happiness cannot get in; struggle is the only thing I know.
Hope and happiness seem so long ago; still, on I must plough.
My heart’s a barren wasteland, its sole occupant a crow,
Cawing, perched atop a dying willow.
I close my eyes and see the vision that kept me going: a lush meadow, peace, a ruisseau.
I, Virago,
Open my eyes, see the kingdom I fought for below,
And reality strikes me like a deathblow.
The world cannot be changed, that much now I know.
Good may win today, but Evil shall fight us again the morrow.
I’ve reached a plateau; tyrants I cannot overthrow, my limitations outgrow.
Show’s over, chapeau ! Time for someone else to take up the flambeau.
I close my eyes, imagine that faux tableau, of happiness and friendship, complete with a rainbow.
Take me, O Death, I’m ready to go.
