Patchface the Poet

Oh Shireen, little Shireen,
Your ears in the wind they blow,
They are all scared of you for your face,
Greyscale hurt you back in the days,
Oh, oh, oh, this I know.

Oh Shireen, little Shireen,
Now you’re a guest of Commander Snow,
Yet the people don’t want you here,
It’s your mom’s mustache they fear,
Oh, oh, oh, this I know.

Oh Shireen, little Shireen,
May you have more time to grow,
Dead things will come to dance,
And without help we got no chance.
Oh, oh, oh, this I know.

by Lady of Oldcastle