More of Folklore

Oh, lovely daughter of the new country, How many heroes have left you bereft? They pay tribute before all and sundry, But, what good is such due after they've left? How many little men love and depart? Is it that they simply desire some song? I will not play falsely now for your heart, For you I will roar, roar aloud and strong. I will brave your Beauty so very True, Let's win ourselves with a bottle of wine, Toss me your thread of gold, tie me to you, Promise me, we two shall ever entwine. Yes, my deserted princess 'pon the shore, Let us make more of myth, more of folklore.