When he faced the cold truth of the looking glass
He saw whirling pools of sadness in his regretful, almond eyes
And all hope vanished as he stared at his reflection
That he had come to hate himself
Now he was walking barefoot on shattered pieces
That were once his own iron walls
He still knew in the depths of his worn-out heart
That his tragedy was his own fault
And she saved him, she saw him for who he was,
As if she was blind
And only heard his deep, husky voice
And felt his rough, gentle hands
That caressed her pale, fragile cheeks
For she was his beauty
And darling, he was her beast.


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