my little mademoiselle.
Who flies like a fairy,
who leaps like a gazelle.
Soaring innocence, so pure.
boasting elegance, so mature.
Springing gently on your feet,
going up for the next suite.
Though now, she is a mademoiselle no more.
She is the majesty, the royal honour.
Forgive me, your honour, am I not worthy for your time?
You think that you are sitting on a gold throne,
but you are sitting on your tombstone.
Look at you, thinking that you’re surrounded by sandstones,
when those walls around you are made from bones.
You left your home for a castle,
but you are in a shambles.
In your world, you’re a royal highness,
but the real world knows you’re a royal mess.
You are the queen of your own world.
Oh honey, wake up and see.
You are no queen to me.
Hiding yourself in a castle for few,
no one really knows the real you.
Maybe that would be the best,
because the world will know you are truly messed.
Never an honest word,
do you think you will rule the world?
Let me rip that sweet veneer,
I know who you are, my dear.
Even if you say everyone is your family,
oh we know that’s a blasphemy.
You blame the world for its error,
when it’s clearly reflected in your mirror.
Once you go there was never, never an honest word.