Everybody called you delusional,
To get over your problems, so tiny and insignificant.
You were never happy or satisfied with your gold coins,
Flamingo-pink suits, the finest, fabulous fancies,
Rainbow-coloured fireworks shot up like rockets into the black night sky, a twenties summer night,
Crazy they called you, cradled in a bed of roses, your land of milk and honey,
But it’s gone now, like both our sanities, burned down to an ash heap.
And we lost this only shot at true treasures, worth more than the lives we lived.
Extravagant, at least, they should’ve called, this whole town was in the palm of your hand,
But you wanted none of it, even when you knew how great you could’ve been.
Sad, so sad, unfortunate little tale, buried down deep, you are a king.
Remember your last look, now dainty daisies drop delicately on your golden grave.
But no one will ever see or know, but me.