She talks of surrender in her sleep
agitated, tossing as her eyes gently weep.
The sheets are tangled, the pillows crushed
the silence of night is broken, but hush...
Do we leave her sleeping, should we let her cry?
For in the morning, her courage grows high,
her eyes are like fire, her tears a dream
and the night-haunted child becomes a queen:
She's majestic and proud, yet caring and free
But behind her persona she's wounded, you see.