Walk away bowed in shame
to the home where no light shines,
to the children hungry and cold,
their brothers frozen in tow.
Hark, the bells of celebration,
for we have gone! Joy! Joy for the day
in which the monsters hath been banished!
We slink to our nest, the love drained from our stomachs.
And for what do we owe such defeat?
A pair of star-crossed lovers
who's misadventures prove valiant enough
to free their kind? Pitiful.
But alas it twas their love that dost destroy our realm,
and we must return to the scraps of love,
found only in the heart that a squirrel has for his nut,
or a bear has for her cub. A meager meal to say the most.
A different tactic? Nay, that would prove futile.
Taken Luna? But she proves far too strong.
So I pick the new pink one, weak and innocent
from recent transformation, her love giving her stature.
All was so well, I had won! The maids were busy,
the princess content, the groom under my control,
but the purple one, so quickly moved to strike,
that it caused her temporary downfall to the very caves.
When I would walk, the ponies would admire the grace of my hooves,
when I spoke, their ears perked, ready to please,
and when I laughed, they laughed along, amused or not.
I think that was what always kept me going through the invasions;
knowing that I was loved, even if they only loved the body I wore.
And all was still well, for the pests were exterminated
and the others worshipped me. My power grew
strong like the light of Celestia, and my children
grew with the speed of a buffalo's anger.
The spell was weakened, the shield being chipped away,
but the closing of one door leads to the opening of another
later down the aisle I should say. And though my identity revealed,
my hoof was still strongest, and for a moment I ruled even Celestia.
The ponies were trapped, their love filling my stomach and ego,
but to which window I turn for one soft melodic verse, my plan
crumbles as the pink reaches the groom, and their truth hath
overruled any spell I conjure. So we land on our backs and return home.
No respect for a dying race dost Celestia have. No care for
the greatest masterminds, whom are stronger than she.
But she made the simple choice to cast us out, make us enemies.
We could help, we have a power like none other!
To be any pony we want, for as long as we want.
Who says thats such a bad thing? What says the royalty
that such a power is evil? Where is my army?
Ay they are within. An army, we would be so strong for them.
Retire to my chambers, for I am the only one of privacy,
and I stand before my glass, in a familiar shape of a green earth princess.
Mane of teal and eyes of sun, her smile warms me still.
And we chat of days gone by, though I talk only to myself.
She twas my favorite, the way the laugh cascaded from my throat,
and the genuine love her ponies gave me, though it washed away when they heard
my hiss, and saw the jagged horn erupt from my skull. Sometimes
I play that it never happened. Sometimes I pretend I never happened.
That I stayed in her place, while she rotted in a far off land. I am no murderer.
Why should I be? My sins suggest much, but I am not ready to leave;
how long did I stay? Months? Years? It is all a blur as I stood in my case
of green, flowers adorning my head and chest.
But home is where you make it, isn't it? And the day where the green
flames finally took me, and my children burst from their homes,
the paint washing off their hides, we settled, and the Dream Valley
became our Badlands, for none chose to stay with us, to convert to our being.
Many of my children left that day, returning forever to their disguises,
staying with the families they had made. Many tried, but were
not reaccepted. Why do they fear us? They love us when we show we are
ponies too, but when the shells are shown, there is no redemption? Sickening.
Their love said like an honest gentlemen, but yet they were ostracized
for my mistakes as queen, and I was sorry that they were not well.
Heaven has never smiled upon me, but hell has beckoned for
my unholy acts against nature and way.
I cannot help if we be hungry for the lust two share.
We cannot help but feed off the lovers who sneak
between the buildings, their hooves swiftly prancing
as they share kisses in the snow.
Rarely a changeling will refuse to eat, too sickened by his nature.
They will become the pony of a dream, and love a mare, but starve
to death, for he refuses to use her. I am blamed, I always am. But
I did not create this race, I only maintain it.
For violent delights only have violent ends, and my race withers
under the light of the princess'. Kingdoms are protected,
ponies educated, and I am afraid most know the de-cloaking spell by now.
We are dying, and no one cares.
And as I watch the lovers sneak out at night, and the foals tucked in
with a kiss, I look at that lovely princess I could have stayed as,
and I weep in my privacy for the things I will never have.
The truth is a painful thing, and though my babies may feel it,
I hold in. There is a reason there is no king, a reason why we are hated.
It is not our looks, it is not how we act, but who we are. And for the solid fact
that no one loves a changeling.