A thousand years upon this land.
The maiden blood of your frail hand,has mingled with these twisted roots,
My mangled trees of cooked youth.
And though we are an age apart, Penelope we share a heart.
You galloped through these heathen wood, the hallowed path to womanhood. And though the angry tribe gave chase, they couldn't match your savage pace. They cowered at your fearsome howl, as you escaped this forest foul.
Across the ancient bridge to claim your earthly privilege.
And though I am a dismal freak, it doesn't mean that I am weak.
It doesn’t mean I can't be free, as you, my brave Penelope.
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