Have a song for me after I’ve left
over hills of silent regret.
Pay the singer in cheers for his lonely years in hopes of fulfilling that debt.
Raise a toast to my empty chair
at the table of snickering cynics
with mouthfuls of dirt in every word
that sneaks from their worn out lips.
Play the game for me one last time
with your whispers of lies and jeers.
You’ll win your prize of defeated sighs
in longing for another’s best years.
And hang my banner from your castle walls with your trumpets ringing my anthem.
They’ll come crashing down, and your golden crown shall, in crushing defeat, break with them.