She sits, does my queen, on her golden throne
As the courtiers kneel around her
She laughs, does my queen, at the jester's tricks
As her worries and fears surround her
Then to me she comes in the darkness of night
While the guards outside stand tall
And she asks the question that plagues her mind
"Who is the fairest of all?"
The choice of telling the truth or a lie
Is not one that I have been given
I tell her the answer I know she won't like
And brace myself for an earthquake
Do not hurt the bearer of unhappy news
My queen, your face is still lovely
But who will remember your face when you're dead?
Instead they will value your virtues
