Can the fires burn
in a desert wet,
My Queen?

Can the stars shine
in the deep of the ocean,
My Queen?

Can the wind bend a tree
when the tree has no life,
My Queen?

Can a worm really turn itself
into a gracious fairy wing?
Can I hate love so
and love hate too?

Are these flower plains,
smoke on the surface of an abyssal black?

Are those sharp fangs of a wolf
not his pride and honor,
not his weapon and tool,
not his minds hope for survival?

And if love be the apple tree's fruit
those fruit so tender and sweet,
when are they ripe?

If by a little nudge I might give thee
the most precious gift
that you have yearned to take from me,
what will it be now that you aim to take
if no longer I hold this gift in my hands?

If hands are made to fill eachother
and lips made to touch,
if eyes are made to meet
and hearts made to clash,
if minds are made to ponder
and souls made to crash,
why are we born apart and not in pairs?

Oh a troubled mind never ceases to be just that,
as a weeping child never stops to think
why terrible love had ever happened to him...