Let your hair down; let love resound.
A girl emprisoned by her own hair,
The vanity unkenned through the land,
The tower's walls concealed each strand,
and the very maiden fair.
For jealousy, for jealousy, was she far locked away,
'Twas not her own vainglory,
but that wicked one's envious story,
Palisading the lass to stay.
But one gallant chap, so fond of love
sought to find his only rose
so to his "sweet" he swiftly goes,
Roses, however, do have thorns, as the tower rises above.
He could not ascend the tower in its hiddeous splendor
He bid her lend her long blonde hair
To scale the tower without doubless, no fear.
Success granted, his maiden too, and a love not felt afore.
Her hair his strength, to scale that ghastly ghost of a tower
His strength is hers. Her beauty peers his wit
She shall he forever fence therewith
The two are one, as all love is. United in finest hour.
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