Shapes Of Things That Were

Claiming to be a Pharaoh's bride
She sat on the edge of the fountain and cried
Lamenting the life she claims she's been denied
Since Egypt fell and Ptolemy died

Her clothes are covered in grime from the road
On her hands and her face the years of hardship showed
Some of the people who pass by toss a coin in her cup
Everyone walking past wonders why she gave up
On pursuing her dreams, on engaging in life
She tells all who ask it's the curse of the Pharaoh's wife

In the middle of the day she snacks on stale bread
While rocking back and forth, nodding her head
Wishing and hoping for the chance to lay in bed
With the Ptolemaic son she said she had wed

"He was the real ruler, not his harlot sister"
She says under her breath in a mumbling whisper
"The jealous witch who took Romans as lovers"
She says as one who genuinely suffers 
"She poisoned my King, so vile was that Cyprian"
She says with her eyes dulled, dark as obsidian

So she spends her days sitting on the edge of the fountain
Lamenting a fantasy life and reeking of sloe gin