The princess is dying faster.
No time to lose her slipper on the way out.
She knows her pumpkin is returning,
And there's no such thing as happily ever after.
He wants to stay ' she can't:
he's just playing the part.
She is fragile and sacred; no,
she is a slave, hiding
in the cinders and the apron, and he,
he longs for love, yet searches for royalty.
'No, you're wrong,' she whispers.
She threw herself upon every command,
while he waltzes to a royal tune,.
Can't find the key change to the bridge.
She twists herself towards the fireplace,
One last corner to empty,
And she knows all the notes.

We pick our own paths.