Sometimes, no, make that often, I wish I was a little girl again.
Tell me that story again, the one I heard upon your knee
where fairies scattered fairy dust in little girls' dreams
tell me about the boy again, the one with a heart of gold
or of the magical forest where the trees led to other worlds
I need the healing touch of your stories now, my ones have paled
I want to laugh with you as you repeat the old tales of yesterday
I need to see you smile, listen to your laughter echo in my ears
only then, I feel, this heart will heal, my worries disappear.
My tales are boring and rotten, full of blood and gore
the world feeds on each other, this old heart can take no more
So sit me upon your knee, tell me those stories again
and I will be soothed and ready: to fight another day.