Apologia - William Patrick Corgan

Lo, and lo

There aren’t queens, ho

There are streets you paint with gold

And dreams told of pearl

Stung with lanterns bright

With promise since earned by day

Spurned to fright

Tuned to phantoms a-flail and scorched into sky

Forgive, forgive what’s kind

Make believe, make believe

Poppies make 'em sleep like a witch dooms mine

Make believe, make believe midnight’s chime

'Cause they closed the cantina

They closed the cardinal rouge

They drove 'ol Angelina

Shuttered her with dread

Oh, hearth, hearth of a great war

Your first chance fills my hand

Penultimate and vast

Say it so, there aren’t queens, lo

By what means though shall we reign

'Gainst pitched black and Union Jack

Your gods aren’t coming back

The owl’s in the knave

Ghost-cinders, tinder-safe

Forgive, forgive what’s asked

Make believe, make believe

Poppies make 'em sleep like a witch churns ash

Make believe, make believe

My loom and lash

Make believe, make believe

My loom and lash