Passion bleeds from the seams
of my heart for the woman I
want to love. She stands as the
manifestation of all that is true in a
world gone mad.

She is a queen of divine beauty who
sits on top the throne of all that is pure.
I, the noble peasant, bow to
her and ask her for her hand.
I wish to take her to my world
which has crumbled away from
the sorrow that cries out for her.
Once happiness shed from my heart.
Now storms of sheer desolation and loneliness
Stomp upon my already dying heart. .
And only she can stop it. A wave of
her hand and a snap from
her fingers could destroy it all.

Sweet Queen, I go on my knees for you.
Oh how I need you so.