The little girl looks down from the wall
to the gardens below
Her red hair flutters in the breeze, as
she watches the others below
Little does she know the heartbreak and
pain that will follow her life
Her little head filled only with toys
and games, not affairs of state
A voice behind her calls 'Mary! its time
The years pass in a blur of
castles,palaces,death and intrigue
A baron queen jealous of a cousins good
looks and heir
Sits on a throne and plots and connives
Like all before her, 'whats theirs is
mine and whats mine is mine'
A box of letters should do the trick
and rid me of this troublesome itch!
So go! Arrest! Imprison! Deny! For
soon I'll sign the warrant to die!
The mist swirls on a chill morning and
once again a voice calls
Mary its time to go
Proudly she walks to the block, a real
Her red dress flutters in the breeze and
as she kneels down
Once again a little girl looks down from
the wall and closes her eyes.