The King Is Dead

I need to get out of this house,

This whole city is haunting me.

I can not breath within walls like these,

Making me the weakling I am.

What I remember is rain, always rain;

Always grey clouds in the morning sky.

And this old shitty record player,

Repeating the only record we had.

You can't imagine how loud we had to turn it,

To drown out the fathers yelling;

Not to hear the mothers weeping;

To be save from the noise.

A home, which was never our home.

A king, who yelled and hurt and drank.

A queen, who loved and wept and fell.

Children, who cried and dreamed and sank.

Your blood circling in my black veins.

I am your flesh, you are my chain.

I am the fruit of your sear tree.

Just left to rot, never set free.