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Save me the creator of the world,

For this, these successors won't let me live

My frosted heart cracks to respond to

The pain and chain of melancholy it is suffering from.

Why can't you just call me,

For I will be a servant in your wonderland with your slaves?

Don't worry, it will just take a flash of your sword to call me in your favour.

For me to feel like a burden on this creation

Of your on this creation you did; just seems a curse.

This world is a curse to live in and

Your subjects are smothering me with their challenges.

Your highness, the given feathered cure has been cut

And seized by your subjects but I must say you are never partial with anyone.

Then why do your subjects do it?

They are a part of you, you live within them but still,

They judge and are slowly and steadily seizing all my beauty.

Yes, it's fading away

I can feel it turning into thick black pollutants and

Choking out the pores to cover my whole face with dust and all that sounds dirty to you.

The dictator is not letting the holy waters wash it off shore for it knows that it's now a traitor.