Odds of Olympus

He's quiet
And robes misery
Ragged from every suitors stream
His honest sleeves a little bit dirty
Too bloody from the dark

He often wonders how he speaks
With gods and queens
So certain with promise
When he does not belong in this room
For no one believes in him

She's distant
And spits tragedy
Quiet from all attempts to sleep
Her careful fingers a little bit sticky
Too crooked for a heart

She often wonders how she speaks
With dreams and the youth
So certain with promise
When she does not belong in this tomb
For no one believes in her

No one believes in them

They often wonder how they speak
With gods and dreams
So certain with promise
They are certainly bold
But no one believes in them