Will you still lay beside me now that what was is no more?
Will you take a chance, that it all wasn't chance,
that we belong,
and I may do right...
Where so often all I have done is wrong?
Will you - just like the cliché - tell me everything's going to be alright,
while you hold me tight, and we both know
that we don't know
but stay and believe it too?
Would you stroke my hair like you did that night,
caress my neck...so that I might just believe it too?
Will you walk the path,
hold my hand, never to leave,
with this knave, this thief, this wolf in the dark...
and take a risk to forgive, the flights, the fancies...?
Will you stand next to the fire and warm yourself,
and be burnt?
And weather the storms that gather, that carry me away from you...never for long,
but never to stay, except at heart
an eye for you?
The genius that destroys, the failings of this little Prince?