Song: Tilting Windmills.
I have walked for mile on mile
To trace my true love's passage;
I have worn my shoes of glass
To shards against my skin.
Now I have found the bolted door
That marks my destination,
And all that's left to do is beg
The locks to let me in.
I have been a fool, it's true,
An unfit Dulcinea;
I have been the source of all
The troubles we have known.
Now I stand here with my hands
Clasped in a begger's prayer
Asking for a final chance
To balance blood with bone.
And the chairs are on the tables,
And the barmaids have gone home,
While the victims of this parable
Keep drinking on their own.
And the boards across the windows
Mean there's nothing left to see
As my Master of La Mancha
Makes his way away from me...
And he doesn't see the cobwebbed bones
Of the other doomed Quixotes
Who went tilting at the windmill
They call 'freedom from regret',
And he's chasing whiskey sours with
The River's bitter waters,
Betting everything he's ever been
Against the Devil's own roulette...but I haven't lost him yet.
I have seen the setting sun
Bleed red across the mountains;
I have seen the winter fall
And seen the summer rise.
Now I press my bloodied hands
Against the gate that bars me,
Praying for the chance to make
Amends for all my lies.
I have been the summer's queen,
And he the king of winter;
I have been one who turned
And left him for a crown.
Now I come in tattered coats
With roses in my hair,
Waiting for the moment where
The world comes crashing down.
And the shadows in the corners
Are as dark and cold as sin,
While the victims of this parable
Still refuse to let me in.
And the sawdust on the floorboards
Drinks their sorrows down like wine
As my Master of La Mancha
Lays his future on the line...
And he doesn't see the cobwebbed bones
Of the other doomed Quixotes
Who went tilting at the windmill
They call 'freedom from regret',
And he's chasing whiskey sours with
The River's bitter waters,
Betting everything he's ever been
Against the Devil's own roulette...but I haven't lost him yet.
I am not a damsel in distress; I am no princess.
I am not a thing to rescue, I am not a child to save.
I am flawed and I have failed, but I believe he still can love me,
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.
I will be the fairy tale
That ends in ever after;
I will be the noose of thorns
That breaks and does not bind.
I will walk the broken road
To be his Dulcinea
And lead him from this shuttered room
To what light we can find.
And the key is hope and patience
And forever's not too long
For the victims of this parable
To come back where they belong.
And the doors are only shadows
That I will not choose to see
And my Master of La Mancha
Will be coming home with me.
I am not a damsel in distress; I am no princess.
I am not a thing to rescue, I am not a child to save.
I am flawed and I have failed, but I believe he still can love me,
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.
To trace my true love's passage;
I have worn my shoes of glass
To shards against my skin.
Now I have found the bolted door
That marks my destination,
And all that's left to do is beg
The locks to let me in.
I have been a fool, it's true,
An unfit Dulcinea;
I have been the source of all
The troubles we have known.
Now I stand here with my hands
Clasped in a begger's prayer
Asking for a final chance
To balance blood with bone.
And the chairs are on the tables,
And the barmaids have gone home,
While the victims of this parable
Keep drinking on their own.
And the boards across the windows
Mean there's nothing left to see
As my Master of La Mancha
Makes his way away from me...
And he doesn't see the cobwebbed bones
Of the other doomed Quixotes
Who went tilting at the windmill
They call 'freedom from regret',
And he's chasing whiskey sours with
The River's bitter waters,
Betting everything he's ever been
Against the Devil's own roulette...but I haven't lost him yet.
I have seen the setting sun
Bleed red across the mountains;
I have seen the winter fall
And seen the summer rise.
Now I press my bloodied hands
Against the gate that bars me,
Praying for the chance to make
Amends for all my lies.
I have been the summer's queen,
And he the king of winter;
I have been one who turned
And left him for a crown.
Now I come in tattered coats
With roses in my hair,
Waiting for the moment where
The world comes crashing down.
And the shadows in the corners
Are as dark and cold as sin,
While the victims of this parable
Still refuse to let me in.
And the sawdust on the floorboards
Drinks their sorrows down like wine
As my Master of La Mancha
Lays his future on the line...
And he doesn't see the cobwebbed bones
Of the other doomed Quixotes
Who went tilting at the windmill
They call 'freedom from regret',
And he's chasing whiskey sours with
The River's bitter waters,
Betting everything he's ever been
Against the Devil's own roulette...but I haven't lost him yet.
I am not a damsel in distress; I am no princess.
I am not a thing to rescue, I am not a child to save.
I am flawed and I have failed, but I believe he still can love me,
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.
I will be the fairy tale
That ends in ever after;
I will be the noose of thorns
That breaks and does not bind.
I will walk the broken road
To be his Dulcinea
And lead him from this shuttered room
To what light we can find.
And the key is hope and patience
And forever's not too long
For the victims of this parable
To come back where they belong.
And the doors are only shadows
That I will not choose to see
And my Master of La Mancha
Will be coming home with me.
I am not a damsel in distress; I am no princess.
I am not a thing to rescue, I am not a child to save.
I am flawed and I have failed, but I believe he still can love me,
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.
I believe that we have choices past the silence of the grave.