The Tower

It's quiet in the tower where she
stands at the window,
clings to the silence,
clings to a prayer

the princess tied to solitude,
cursed to wait but never rest,
high above the plains, so far away
from love

He hears the story of her
unjust imprisonment,
stolen as a child,
locked up long ago,

a young man riding a white horse,
coming from the east,
coming from
the sunrise

"My lady," he calls,
"let down your hair"
She shakes her head,
she turns away

He tries the door, it opens,
up the stairs he swiftly runs,
but she cowers in
the corner

"My lady, come with me on a
white horse we'll ride into
the sunrise, far away
to somewhere safe"

But she's never left these walls behind before,
she's never set a foot outside the tower door,
so he leaves empty handed, she waves from the window,
he rides into the sunset on a white horse, all alone