How can you hold the dream from her eyes,
Once she has felt the feel of power?
She was snatched by the searing flame at sunrise
From the fabulous forms of pharohs.
Never tell of the nothingness
Of her long search for a vacant throne.
She must never know she is sanity
In a mad, Malivachian world.
She sits in still, sad madness
In her long, flowing royal robes,
Commanding armies that will never march,
Commanding audiences with servants of state.
She stood sadly in her tears,
As they led Maximillian to the wall
To a reality she would never know,
The empress has stayed forever in the past.
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