Look at you;
Hovering like a
Great, slimy insect -
Tell me,
Do I look like Damocles to you?
(What power do I have except over you?)
You forget;
I am Anne (sans tête)
Are you my Boswell or my Cromwell?
(Or possibly my Bothwell?)
Either way;
I have not tired of a life on one's knees, yet
Some men stand on their feet
And some on their hands
But all that matters is the gown on your back
And the hat on your head;
(And you, my Henry,
Have always worn a hat of someone else's choosing)
I am not afraid of you.
(I feel it, but I don't have to fear it)
There is only one terrifying spectre here.
You are the sword;
But I am the void.
