When the morning comes, we'll both arise,
And bid farewell to starry skies,
Take our makeshift compass, like a prize,
And rush to the great green lawn.
We'll play at being soldiers, spies,
We'll make a million more mud pies,
We'll sit in the sun and shade our eyes,
And each stifle a golden yawn.
We'll avoid Stepmother's vicious lies,
And not ask Daddy our endless whys,
And Hansel will stop himself, 'fore he cries,
And then we won't have to be gone.
We'll find the way back, our hapless tries
Forgotten; the crumbs will clarify...
But the birds have come, and our compass dies;
We'll be lost before the dawn.