She stands, her face against the stars,
Seven thousand candles all around her,
but their light is nothing next to her.
They say, the sun shines at her pace,
little knowing of the nebulas inside,
The raging orbits of her mind.
Oh Empress, Empress, Empress, Empress please!
Oh Empress, Empress, Empress, Empress please!
Somehow the Empress expressed an interest expressly in me.
Now, our hearts beneath the stars, she bequeathed on me a
Name befitting of my station next to her.
She stands in moonlit poverty, this blood rite elegy
It binds us in ambition, in romance, in starlit poetry.
She moves away from me.
These nebulas, just frame, the glory of her frame.
These candles in the night just illuminate her face.
Oh Empress and I, our ambition is our grace.
There's a tyrant in us both.
We are ruled by gold and brimstone:
Touch thy Midas to my soulâ¦
Novas firing in our hearts, we are children in amongst the stars,
Monarchs of ambition to these ancient lands outcast.
This burning life of ours, we reclaim our names
From solitary minds, the ones now running out of time.
Crowned within the light of stars, up above, our half-lives
Yet to become whole, and we as monarchs yet to make our home,
Children with ambition yet to find ourselves a land to call our own.