You're in the tower, blissful and content,
no laws broken or sins to repent,
with all the poise and all of the grace
from the width of your charm to the shape of your face.
You heard words turn to poetry and song,
humming tunes while the day is long,
while I am in the keep, pondering and thinking
about how far in your quicksand I am sinking.
A prisoner of love and a captive of life,
the consequence of all the trouble and strife
that comes along with owning a second-hand heart
and wanting to immortalise you in all of my art.
Take my stanzas and memorise my verse,
as I take my pen and begin to rehearse
the words I long to say and for you to hear
of how much I think of you and want you, my dear.
With all the emotion in the whole of my world,
towards your direction it is deservedly hurled,
penetrating deep down, burrowing in your chest,
keep all of me you desire, and destroy the rest.

You're in the tower while I'm in the keep,
next to you is where I yearn to sleep,
feeling the warmth and serenity you expel,
for now I'm a prisoner, trapped in your cell.