"The Queen, the Queen,
The Queen does come forth," yells a girl from St. Anne's to the patrons in court.
The Queen's procession wraps around the lake right over the bridges and up to main gate.
The criers are ringing their bells.
"Make way, make way," yells Saint Blaise.
The next to come forth is the Kriegshunde of old yelling knockviter to those who would be bold.
Steel Bonnet came next, clinking and clanking like a rusty steel mess.
Then the footmen came forth with pikes so high that they slice through the trees with a fright.
The Mariners came shambling past, those sea-loving folk, you know the ones without anything that floats.
Then the flags of all companies converge in front of the nobles we so deserve.
As you see the drummers called Rolling Thunder precede the Queen's chair,
  and a patron yells, "Is that the Queen of the faire?"

My heart is about
to leave, ready to ascend
then hover away

on the dusked wings of
her before my woe-hardened
rib cage could shatter

her. An exodus
of the chosen ****** is her
new purpose to find

peace in the embrace,
the horizon's snowy clouds.
I would go after

her, but I'm rooted
here; this mandrake soil does not
let me depart, so

I let her set sail
and ask to be the very
sight of me; just to

watch over you while
you're about to blaze the new
path... From here, her bird's-eye view.

Nurturing the blaze in a
war of luminescence when
light against light for it was
provided by you.

Would you love her?
If her hair fell free
Locks sway on her shoulder
Wind catches them boldly
Sunlight will invade them
Brown blaze of strands
If you could see them play
Confining her forlorn face
Would run your fingers slowly?
If she sets them free
If she let them flow
A Rapunzel is what you need?
A glance of that entangled mane
Would be enough to drive you insane?