They call me a queen, of hearts no less

But behind in my mind there lies a mess.

The rolling heads and jacks of trades

Meet their ends unless I’m obeyed.

And when this girl in blue arrives,

She speaks in riddles, perhaps to survive,

Though she says there’s a home, with familiar skies.

Perhaps I should go, to where she said,

Where I truly belong, outside of my head. 

My conscience has no savior.

I’m sure it makes me crazier.

But all I need to know,

Is where I can finally find my home.