let me find out for myself
if she’s bad for me
please don’t interfere again
even should misery

await me like an angry mob
dragging me to the guillotine
just be a grandmother
quilting at the gruesome scene

who wants a little of my blood
to speckle her as my head falls.
i can’t listen to your advice,
for love awaits and duty calls.

like a hero I must rush in
my sword flashing with derring-do;
maybe I’ll be victorious
just bid me luck and sad adieu.

Sancho Panza, you can’t save me,
and there is no panacea
to prevent me fighting windmills
for love and for Dulcinea.