A One Eighty

Sound pierced with no response nor violence 

I am no longer your highness

Plant the seeds of escaping in silence
The last drop is a place I reside in 

A concluded sound of that ringing bell 
The last bucket drawn from the well 

Where did I go ? 
You won't be able to tell 

Marched down the road of your personal hell 

Dropped reins in the rain of your pain 
On to dry amongst my own reign 

Nothing to loose 
Everything to gain