I belonged to history

When our car hit the pillar of the
Paris tunnel,
I knew the world would talk about this for a long time.
I had always been photographed, chased,
and photographed again.
They were after me again, the paparazzi,
but for the last time.
When I died, I belonged to history, not the paparazzi.
I was Princess Diana, divorced,
mother of a future king.
I died,
when my life began.

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