Picture This

Can you picture being the queen of your throne
But poorer than those with dirt in their hands?
Imagine, your land as wide as the eye can see
But only as small as the eye itself

Shot down by your hands shaped like a guns
It wasn't the bullet, it was the action
Torn down by sticks like swords and spears
It wasn't the blade, it was the promise

Disappointment as tears to the eyes
Warm as the pages of the book tell me
Everything to yourself you exclaim
More than nothing to higher eyes, the truth shall speak

Down to the last straw, you must stop
Down to the bare bones, you must think
Down to the bottom of stone hearts, you must retrace
Or down to nothing, you will be reduced