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It’s not important till she cries, it’s not serious till she’s gone..
You’ll have all the time to wonder why you left her alone so long.
What made you believe she’d be safe away from your arms?
That she’d believe you’d never let her go, when you already have?

You’d kiss her now, you’d come for her now;
say anything to make her believe you again.
Were you lost at sea? She lived without you, alone on land,
your love for her found drying on the shore.
You complained the sand would scrape you;—doesn’t matter anymore.

You won’t find her in the clouds or a castle made of sand.
You were too long lost at sea, and left her lost on land.
One more promise for you to make,
demand her heart for you to break;
what would you give her when she has nothing left for you to take?

She looked so lovely upon a pillowed heart of open sores,
but the magic leaves with her—gone to her new castle with nightingale floors.