He was the prince to my pauper.

He liked to fold his pillow over,

I could only sleep flat on my face.

He was so sweet when he was sober.

He was the taste of our vodka.

I was the lemon in our chai.

I was the bent weeping willow,

He was the one that had to cry.

My blame was on his peacekeeper.

His shame was every part of me.

I left because he locked the door,

After I broke a precious key.

I never knew what the prince meant,

When he said all pain is the same.

Sometimes I went to my right,

When I should have just stayed.