Where is the beauty in what is beholden?

is it the green grass or the rivers flowing?

Was the days of the Red queen cursed with suffering?

And the gold soiled by the coals burning?

There was hunger, there was pain,

And the birds weren't chirping,

But the palace was clean,

And the kitchen smelled of muffin.

The priests grew fat with silver from the poor,

Their greed was insatiable and they asked for more,

All the people had was taken, but hope,

Those that couldn't give anything met the rope,

Won't the gods listen to the mother wailing?

Pleading as she cried for her sick young.

Or did they only care about their offering?

Why has recompense suffered so long?

Don't they see the barks bleeding?

As the innoncent hung from the trees

Just to keep the Red Queen's oven blazing

And a little more sugar in her tea