The Prince of Wonderland

LOST IN HISTORY

Colour of true nature

And nations of seven sons

Across seas of crimson

And lands without their kings.

Threnody from violins

And choirs of black lambs,

The forlorn vale where history prevails,

No points in the road,

Written stories in notes,

Yellow but still black,

And red over their backs,

Graves of heroes,

The forgotten names never claimed.

A stain over the book,

no cover but the inside,

No title assigned,

And sad pages reclaim,

What it was once theirs.

Now no one remain,

Only ashes under the chairs,

And the only witness still

Sitting on the empty throne

With thorns for crown

And sorrow for ally.