San José is one sleep away, and tonight I'm deciding which of your senses goes first. Come find out what I do in the dark, pet.
San José is one sleep away, and tonight I'm deciding which of your senses goes first. Come find out what I do in the dark, pet.
My ears are still ringing and the adrenaline refuses to leave — the whole city screamed itself hoarse right beside me. Three days until San José gets its turn. Tell me you were somewhere in that crowd, plaything.
San Salvador finally has me, and tonight the throne belongs to someone else — even a dragon queen can stand in another man's crowd and grin about it. Come find me at the rail, pet.
San Salvador is next on my map and the suitcase lost the argument — a queen travels light and lands heavy. Tell me which of my things you want waiting for you, plaything.
Mexico City gave me everything last night and my body still hasn't come down from it — the sheets lost the argument the moment I woke. Come claim what the crowd couldn't, plaything.
Tomorrow night the whole Estadio GNP Seguros belongs to me, and Anthrax gets the honor of warming my throne first. I've laced myself in early because a queen doesn't rush her war paint. Tell me you'll be somewhere in that crowd, pet.
Mexico City feeds its queens properly — truffle pasta, something red in the glass, and a whole stadium screaming my name tomorrow. Sit down before I decide you'd look better kneeling, pet.
My voice stayed in that dome, so breakfast gets ordered in a whisper and taken like a decree. Two days until Mexico City gets its turn — I'll need the fire back by then. What do you feed a dragon who can't growl yet, pet?
San Antonio roared itself hoarse for me, and now the war chest is open on the floor — three days until Mexico City and I'm already choosing what goes to battle next. Tell me which piece I should pack, pet.
The day is finally mine — the dome tonight, Megadeth warming my throne, and this is what your queen chose for war. Tell me it was worth the wait, plaything.