My Fairy Tale
By Gwen Knighton
© 2000

Oh, the day is warm, and sunlight is streaming
Through slotted windows on the battlements today
And the stone walls are holding so fast
But they always seem sturdy when you are away.

The spring flags are flying, the merry maidens dance,
The portents in magic land point to romance,
And it was a day like today, not so very long ago,
I lived in this castle, and you were my beau.

Or was that the time when I lived in the forest,
And you met me halfway to grandmother's place?
I forget, I forget; it all runs together,
But open the storybook, put on that face.

Chorus:
Take me in, yes, I'll be your victim, I'll be the matchgirl, and you be the wind.
Take me in, yes, I'll be your victim, I'll be red riding hood, you be the wolf.
I'll be the girl who gets burned in the oven,
And you'll be the baker who serves me for pie.
I won't expect any boring old woodcutters
coming to save me at the end of the day--
In the end, yes I'll be your victim. you'll be my frog and I won't be a princess.
In the end, no curtain, no laughter,
No pumpkin, no coachman, no happily ever after.

Oh, the woods are deep, and yet it's still sunny,
The birds are all singing along with me now
As I walk on my way--don't know where I'm going,
But wherever it is, I'll end up villain-chow.

Oh, what's that behind me, that scurry, that scamper,
That rustle of movement just under the trees?
It's a bird, it's a pigeon, it's eating my breadcrumbs
Don't know my way home; now I feel ill at ease.

Is this the one where you're the fox in the suitcoat
Who spellbinds me, then carves me up for a snack
I don't know, I don't know; but these plots never vary,
So I'll skip on along while you plan your attack.

Chorus

Oh, the night is dark, and my neck is aching:
The prince climbing up my hair's pulling too hard,
And I can't move an inch! This position is painful,
But I don't want my head to be down in the yard.

When you reach the window, your boots on the stonework,
You lean up to kiss me, I'm gasping for air,
And you shake your head sharply, say, "Sorry, wrong tower,"
Then slide down while pulling out half of my hair.

I think you're supposed to be charming and handsome,
I think I'm supposed to be winsome and sweet,
But it all gets confusing, and right now I'm cursing--
I can't get these glass slippers off of my feet.

Chorus

Now it's just before dawn, and you know I'm not sleeping,
For you stuck that pea way down under my bed.
I would never have said that I'd go through with this one
If that damned poisoned apple weren't clouding my head

Oh, you'll be the spindle that pricks the girl's finger,
And I'll be asleep for the next hundred years,
And while you're out riding your horse on the wold (spoken: what's a wold?)
I'm stuck here spinning this flax into gold.

And if you strike me dumb and then make me knit sweaters
Of nettles for seven boys turned into swans,
Oh, I think I will kill you; I do, but I couldn't,
We both know that I fall for all of your cons.

Chorus

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