Paper Crown

A freezing wind is tearing pages from an ancient pad,
A throne of cardboard that’s the only thing you ever had.
You scream of power, but your eyes show nothing but the fear,
Your whole empire is just dust about to disappear.
The king of fables, man, you forgot the streets you walked,
Don't trust the sycophants, the miracles of which they talked.
You rule a kingdom where the price of loyalty is dead,
I'd rather be a beggar than sleep inside your hollow bed.
You throwing words to the wind, playing the heavy boss,
But life will back you to the wall and make you count the loss.
The brothers fade, leaving nothing but the shadows' lies,
That ain't devotion, homie, that's cold vengeance in disguise.

Припев
A paper crown sitting heavy on an empty head,
It’s gonna burn from a spark left by the blood you bled.
The fake ass glitter cannot hide the rotten core inside,
Your throne is built out of matches—burn, king, burn your pride!


The jackals circle, just waiting for your foot to slip,
The friend from yesterday is holding the extended clip.
Your pockets empty, but your ego spilling out the frame,
You traded genuine heaven just to play this circus game.
Look at the faces: they’re all laughing right behind your back,
Your stairway to the top became a dead-end on the track.
The barrels quiet, your protection's just a crumpled sheet,
Facing the curtain call, you taste the flavor of defeat.
And every contract that you didn't sign in literal blood,
Is working for the same snakes you dragged out the mud.
You at the summit, but it's nothing but a jagged peak,
Prepare to fall into the jaws of the abyss you seek.


The wind will rip your paper halo right off your dome.
Every illusion gotta shatter when the truth hits home.
The facts are brutal, homie, this right here is not a dream—
The heavy rain is washing out your cardboard regime.
The drops are rolling down your face, washing the paint away,
You started out as a nobody. A nobody you stay. Alone.

Припев
A paper crown sitting heavy on an empty head,
It’s gonna burn from a spark left by the blood you bled.
The fake ass glitter cannot hide the rotten core inside,
Your throne is built out of matches—burn, king, burn your pride!


Nothing but ashes. The wind took the sheets away.
Where is your entourage?
Just empty dreams today.