You could've just suffered for your art or
Been a troubled troubadour
Instead you had to be a martyr
The tragic king who came before
Fell victim not to compromise
Nor being someone's Spartacus
A chipped heart led to your demise
The patsy for your own distrust

I listen with a biased ear
To tales I know through words alone
Perhaps the legacy I hold dear
Would be better served by stick and stone
So I'll wheel in the teacart
We'll sit and sip and reminisce
I'll speak not of your tragic art
We'll just catch up on chapters missed

I eavesdrop and I empathize
I listen to your dreams collide
But I never really knew you like did a blessed few

If there were one thing I would take
It'd be disdain for all things fake
I won't be dishonest; no shame here for the true