Girl you dance on the fence of fancy and phantasm
This sharp iron wire slowly cuts your desire to marry the sire
The ideal deal is to feel for Mr. Real who'll only steal your appeal
You'd better avoid his celluloid dream, otherwise you' get lost like in Detroit
Your prince on the white horse knows no remorse and he says hoarse that he'll loves you with all his force
His embrace feels like a haze in disgrace without a promise for his glory days
He's clever as a fox but he locks you in a box of rat rings after the chime of the timeless clocks
So face the sky and sigh suspiciously in his eye and tell him why you leave him before you die