Ode to Lana Del Rey

Throne of skulls pins the star spangled banner down.
Faded, patched up, it shivers. And maggots crawl between the bones.
The melody of guns and death hangs like a backdrop to the scene.

She sits on the throne, trailing her hand across the carnage. Then stands up and walks off, singing, still singing.

A songbird, soaked in blood.

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