She was born from, the blood of Queens,
The night was young, she wouldn't sleep,
With legs so long, her thighs slept with me,
The tangled feet, in lovers sheets,
With fingers linked, you, lover, think,
You will last forever, in a dream,
Of romance and drama, only few achieve,
What they're saying, 'bout the day you died,
Was that you cared too much to hide,
All the stolen childrens memories,
In canvas bags, and leather chests,
So now the birds pecked, at our dead friends,
And you weren't there to stop them.
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