I come at your beck and call
Though you’re never there for me
And I kiss the ground you tread on
Though you never notice me
And I slay the monsters ahead of you
Though you never see me
I polish your scepter and throne
Though you always look past me

What has become of me
What will become of me

I am but your fool
Sitting by your feet
Like a court jester
I prance in defeat
Making you smile
While my heart frowns
For I’ll never be the one
To wear the king’s crown

O, my queen
You torture me so
These invisible chains
Forbid me to go
My heart bleeds
For love in return
But I’m but a weed
Unwanted and scorned

What has become of me
What will become of me

I am but your fool
Sitting by your feet
Like a court jester
I prance in defeat

I am…
April’s fool…
I am…