she is my muse, she'll sing me to sleep
through the darkest of nights or the brightest of days
kings of the sky or the queens of the deep;
they all pay her courtly praise
when she is sad or her humors are ill
her skies grow dreary and grey
and her garden wilts while her forest lays still
while my sleep goes rotten from decay
oh put me at ease my beautiful muse
i long for the pitch of your siren
to make your world right i would slave all the night
and restore your graces undying
to be next to you would be my only console
because closeness, like slumber, is good for the soul