The Princess and the Troubadour Pierre de Gaillande

Long before a garden stood on this site
This was the district that thrives in the night
A hidden hovel of vice and deceit
These ruins would never be a landmark
And all the creatures that dwelled in its dark
They were the finest flower
They were the elite

Flowers and elite of the underground
Hustlers and losers and roustabouts
Beggars competing in damage and strife
Broken down racehorses, deviants galore
Not to mention a cut rate troubadour
A shipwreck clinging onto
His guitar for dear life

Adopted by this tender underworld
Flourished this precious pixie of a girl
Tucked in the heart of this unholy mess
Since she'd been found by a dry riverbed
Swaddled in finest silks and left for dead
Soon she was known all around
By the name of Princess

One fine night, so help me, O Holy Ghost
She slinks in his room and she takes off her coat
She crawls on his lap after closing the door
Blushing a little, she says with a sigh
"It's you that I love and you may if you like
Kiss me on the mouth
And then do even more"