The poisoned apple falling from the tree,
the finger-prick bleeds on the spinning wheel.
The princess in the tower is not free,
she's been pierced with the wicked witch's needle.
The hair she once let down has now been shorn,
the gowns she used to wear are tattered rags.
They tricked her so she gave up her first born,
there's nothing left to ride. They killed her stag.
The princes don't know where they ought to look,
there's many men but there aren't many girls.
They've been plucked from some kind of fairy book
and wander, lost, in some strange fairy world.
All those girls are rolled up into one,
all of them to marry the same son.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment