When the Virgin feels the sting
Of an arrow in her wing,
Her ability to fly is all but gone,
And the Archer, whose great bow
That arrow sharp did throw,
Stays as cold and hard as stone he’s standing on.

She will plead with him to stay
And take her pain away,
To free her from the name that she has made,
But he’ll smile and tell her "No,"
Then he’ll turn around and go,
And leave poor Virgin lonely and betrayed.