The Emporer's New Clothes

All ways lead to the Queen, what cards she still holds, she plays like a hangman.
Her house is full of the broken hearted - a Suicide King and a pair of rusted Spades.
She has gone a bit mad, she wants her roses painted red, but we've yet to find the shade.
God save the Queen, she wears her suit on her sleeve.
Her hourglass shape is a funhouse reflection.
Heartbreaker, don't let her find you here.
Confidence is the cancer of this courtyard, it'll split your head if we don't get the flowers red.
By order of the Queen, it’s the order of the Queen. If we don’t repaint the flowers red.
Death by division, don't call it jealousy.
It's an exercise in infection control.
Insanity's masterpiece split at the seams.
Shakespearean virgin, your world is a stage, but your charm's in the basket.
They gave the ax to an amateur.
I haven't stopped laughing, how am I supposed to line this up?
Kneel down, Vanity, everyone's waiting.
We all want what's swollen, depressurized.
Look at the floor, look at what you've done.
Narcissus, your reflection is heartbroken red.
Your savior wears a charcoal veil.
These are the colors of her courtyard.
These are the suits that split the days.
Two-handed engine runs itself through the bone, when the ego lands, it rolls.
Heads will roll.