Scepter

(Ivy Yorke)

A song about the burden of being placed on a pedestal.

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An order to organize,
To break every rule as I fantasize,
An effort to appeal to my base desires.
I run just to come back home,
Leave others, then cry when I feel alone,
Like using kerosene to try to out a fire.

I throne, my home, cuts me to the bone.
My hands are heavy.
The weight in my hair, it cannot compare
To what's in my hand, so no one dares.
There're scars on my arms, no seems to care.
I'm getting closer to losing composure.
There's less of me with every ruby added to my scepter.

I can't even try to leave.
I'm chained to the throne and there's no reprieve.
I can't run away; all my dreams are forfeit.
The pain is searing my chest.
I cry out for rescue, but all that's left;
My scepter, my throne; I'm bound by this so-called gift.

I throne, my home, cuts me to the bone.
My hands are heavy.
The weight in my hair, it cannot compare
To what's in my hand, so no one dares.
There're scars on my arms, no seems to care.
I'm getting closer to losing composure.
There's less of me with every ruby added to my scepter.
© Ivy Yorke 2021