Come, sit, come all from all around,
Both pauper and king take a seat upon
The ground.
With words that are combined,
Tell of our enduring love defined,
And of all your flowering grace,
Blossoms the jewel that is your face.
Love is not biased, its choice is from fate,
And though it should speak of joy, instead it
Speaks of hate.
As the sun that envied the moon, with stars to
Accompany its sky,
Like the sun I stand alone, with you forever
Passing by.
A king without his crown, is as worthless
As the dirt.
Now he knows the pauper, and understands
His hurt.
How wondrous words can be, when they
Form a tale,
How spectacular is a ship, when it sprouts its sails.
These words are at their end,
This message I must now send.
I must bid my love farewell,
And I shall see her in heaven, or in hell.
