Six thousand five hundred and seventy days.

In this tower,

Pacing the floors,

Memorizing the walls,

Alone,

For six thousand five hundred and seventy days.

Gothel is fond of books.

My captor,

Object of my hatred,

The cruel witch,

Speaks of the library often,

For Gothel is fond of books.

There is a girl.

Working at the library,

A kind and pure type,

"Always very helpful."

Everything has changed,

For there is a girl.

I put a note in the book.

"Need help,

Held captive,

By the witch."

But no more,

For I put a note in the book.

The girl sent help.

Hidden between pages,

Out of sight.

Papers on engineering,

Construction

For the girl sent help.

I had an idea.

I have learned,

From the papers,

How to create.

Build my way out,

For I had an idea

I searched.

High and low,

Up and down,

Everywhere ,

Losing sleep,

Thinking endlessly,

Collecting material,

Piecing it together,

Creating the contraption,

Keeping it hidden,

Until it was done.

Six thousand five hundred and seventy days.

In this tower,

Pacing the floors,

Memorizing the walls,

Alone,

For six thousand five hundred and seventy days.

But not for six thousand five hundred and seventy one.