You high balcony no longer needs you, maiden or maidens; and my love of loves. Say bye to your window; bye to your blues. Your pane is for the rain and the doves.
Don't waist your beauty on laughing alone from a place that my trained hands cannot kiss. I'm king of the moment; this is your throne let us mix moonshine and madness with this.
You stay still?- You must hate my worn blue jeans, and my stuttered way that I say my name. I see I'm not the giant from your dreams, you fit the ring, your rejecting to claim.
I should have guessed; judging by your window. It's just the same, as everywhere I go.