The fog rolls in, the mist settles down. Somewhere in the distance is your king and his crown.

He hold you when your sad and calms you when your mad, when the fog lifts and the mist fades you can see your king and all of his maids.

But you are no peasant to him, you are the queen of mystical lands, the one he dreams of, the one he lives for.

You run to him legs like pistons, closer you are the more your eye glistens.

The heart of the king warms your thoughts, the mind of he intriuges you lots. He was once blocked by the fog and mist, now he is held and kissed.

If he was to be lost he would be missed.

The time was worth the effort, and life is to short, find the one that is perfect in your eyes, not to the world around you.

Its the journey that makes glory taste soo good, not the destination.