Part I: The Imaginary Court
Come and see what's starting, what's about to unfold,
In the strangest castle you'll ever behold.
Here comes the carriage, there opens the door,
Now starts the one story never told before.
Where are the servants? Busy bees in a hive.
Where is the dinner? Being boiled alive.
Where are the guests? In the throne room of green.
They pay their respects to the resplendent Queen.
Here is his highness, Prince Charming the Black.
There hides his sister, Rampion, in back.
He wears only charcoal, her hair's the same color.
They look like each other, but not much like their mother.
Here is their mother, the dreadful Snow Queen,
Sitting silently white in this ominous scene.
Here are the guests, King Bluebeard and wife,
Followed up by a tomcat who carries a knife.
Here are the fairies, Surcantine and Mayfey,
A dangerous pair if they don't get their way.
Over by the mantle stands cunning Jack Frost,
Just a look from his eyes and your life would be lost.
From the ceiling white goblins blow fire red-hot,
And rain embers down on this bloodthirsty lot.
On her throne made of ice the Snow Queen does consort,
With the fairytale guests of this Imaginary Court.
Every storybook creature who was never any good,
Every imp and bad fairy in the neighborhood,
Even dashing young knights and princesses fair,
Have been snared by bad magic and smuggled in there.
But this is a story about girls, not just any,
It's about the court ladies, of which there are many.
They were once lovely women, not content to stay home,
Which should serve as a warning to ladies who roam.
Caught up by the court, their minds are quite gone,
They are that unspoken staple, the pale courtesan.
Three stand out to my eyes, amidst the royal thick,
Cinderburn, Rose-Welt, and young Spindleprick.
Observe them now, as they pass by us quite near,
And hear the misfortunes that brought them all here.
Part II: Cinderburn
Cinderburn was a treasure, untouched by sin,
Until her stepmother and new sisters moved in.
From morning to night, she worked a furious pace,
And slept in the ashes by the dark fireplace.
They called for their breakfast, they yelled for their tea,
They knew only three words...I, Myself and Me.
Cinderburn sang as she scrubbed down the floor,
She cooked and she cleaned and never went outdoors.
In time she grew up and it was plain to see,
Neither sisters nor mother were as pretty as she.
"So lovely, so kind!" the sisters mocked at the sight,
Turns out the two brats were only half-right.
Cinderburn had blue eyes and gold hair like flax,
And dreamed of killing her family with an axe.
The night before the family was to go to a ball,
Cinderburn awoke and crept down the hall.
She locked all the bedroom doors from outside,
She fetched an oil lantern she'd managed to hide.
Lighting the lantern, she said a few prayers,
And hurling it aside, she headed downstairs.
Out on the lawn she heard shouts, heard screams,
Watched the rising fire she'd seen in her dreams.
When the house was ablaze, she turned onto the road.
She left her dear family and humble abode.
Now you know the truth, now the story is clear,
Now you can see why she ended up here.
Part III: Rose-Welt
Rose-Welt was a princess from family royal,
With black-white-red beauty to make your blood boil.
What could she do to end up this way?
You all know the story, or so you may say...
Rose-Welt's mother died, as they often do,
A step-mother arrived, quite naturally too.
The new Queen had a temper, had a jealous heart,
Had a mirror with which she would never part.
The mirror could talk, and could lie quite well.
It flattered the Queen...she was under its spell.
Rose-Welt could see through it, and so said she,
"You're mirror's wrong, Mamma, You're not prettier then me."
What the Queen hated most, with her heart all of black,
Was not other's beauty, but little girls who talked back.
Rose-Welt wasn't mindful, never noticed the change,
Never saw the plan that was being arranged.
She never noticed a thing until one sunny day,
While she was awaiting her sixteenth birthday.
Her step-mamma brought a basket of apples so red.
Poisoned quite enough to lay an elephant dead.
Rose-Welt took a bite, she began to contort,
She cursed the Queen's name, like a very poor sport.
But she didn't die, though we thought that she might.
Frankly, we didn't think she'd live through the night.
She got up the next day, on her cheek there was borne,
A red welt, like her face had been struck with a thorn.
And that mark has stayed, it's as simple as that.
You'll always pay if you're an uppity brat.
But that's not how she came to be here, not by far,
Not til they found the Queen's heart in a jar.
How it got there's a mystery, I haven't a clue,
I tell you the facts and leave the guessing to you.
Part IV: Spindleprick
Spindleprick was another sweet baby princess.
When royal babies are born, there is a process.
You have a big party, invite all the fairies,
They give the baby gifts...what kind of gift varies.
Sometimes it's talent, like singing or cooking,
But usually it's just about being good-looking.
This is probably why all princesses are pretty.
Poor kids don't get presents from fairies on pity.
(When they do, it's usually something dumb,
Like having loads of patience or a magical thumb.)
All that night, Spindleprick was showered with stuff,
Looks, charm, and good posture, which was more then enough.
But the King and Queen got greedy for even more traits,
They summoned up fairies who were in dire straits.
Now the one thing you must never do for your child,
Is call upon fairies who are evil and wild.
These fringe lunatics just want any excuse,
To doom your poor baby to some awful abuse.
And sure enough, a bad fairy whose name was Brynign,
Who was tired and bored and having a bad time,
Put a curse on little Spindle, God only knows why,
That she'd p***k her finger on a wheel and eventually die.
The King only laughed. p***k her finger on a wheel?
But they're perfectly round! And her finger would heal!
The King, you can tell, was not very bright.
He'd never heard of a spinning wheel until that night.
The good fairies warned him, he shooed them away.
They shrugged their winged shoulders and hit the buffet.
Spindleprick grew to be charming and very good-looking,
And incidentally not to bad at light cooking.
But she was gloomy quite often, like a black cloud that lingers.
For some reason she was always checking her fingers.
One day she noticed a splinter in her thumb,
She looked around for a pin and asked her mother for one.
The Queen, who was spinning, took the spindle from the wheel,
To remove the small splinter and let her thumb heal.
The rest is history, you know it quite well,
But whatever became of Brynign's evil spell?
Well as it turns out, Spindleprick didn't die.
She stretched out on the floor and there she will lie.
She's asleep, in a sleep cold as death and as black,
Her spirit's flown here and it's never gone back.
Part V
Now you know the true stories, why their lives where cut short,
Why certain people end up in the Imaginary Court.
So the next time you read to your children at night,
if you must read them fairy tales...
don't turn off the light.
Come and see what's starting, what's about to unfold,
In the strangest castle you'll ever behold.
Here comes the carriage, there opens the door,
Now starts the one story never told before.
Where are the servants? Busy bees in a hive.
Where is the dinner? Being boiled alive.
Where are the guests? In the throne room of green.
They pay their respects to the resplendent Queen.
Here is his highness, Prince Charming the Black.
There hides his sister, Rampion, in back.
He wears only charcoal, her hair's the same color.
They look like each other, but not much like their mother.
Here is their mother, the dreadful Snow Queen,
Sitting silently white in this ominous scene.
Here are the guests, King Bluebeard and wife,
Followed up by a tomcat who carries a knife.
Here are the fairies, Surcantine and Mayfey,
A dangerous pair if they don't get their way.
Over by the mantle stands cunning Jack Frost,
Just a look from his eyes and your life would be lost.
From the ceiling white goblins blow fire red-hot,
And rain embers down on this bloodthirsty lot.
On her throne made of ice the Snow Queen does consort,
With the fairytale guests of this Imaginary Court.
Every storybook creature who was never any good,
Every imp and bad fairy in the neighborhood,
Even dashing young knights and princesses fair,
Have been snared by bad magic and smuggled in there.
But this is a story about girls, not just any,
It's about the court ladies, of which there are many.
They were once lovely women, not content to stay home,
Which should serve as a warning to ladies who roam.
Caught up by the court, their minds are quite gone,
They are that unspoken staple, the pale courtesan.
Three stand out to my eyes, amidst the royal thick,
Cinderburn, Rose-Welt, and young Spindleprick.
Observe them now, as they pass by us quite near,
And hear the misfortunes that brought them all here.
Part II: Cinderburn
Cinderburn was a treasure, untouched by sin,
Until her stepmother and new sisters moved in.
From morning to night, she worked a furious pace,
And slept in the ashes by the dark fireplace.
They called for their breakfast, they yelled for their tea,
They knew only three words...I, Myself and Me.
Cinderburn sang as she scrubbed down the floor,
She cooked and she cleaned and never went outdoors.
In time she grew up and it was plain to see,
Neither sisters nor mother were as pretty as she.
"So lovely, so kind!" the sisters mocked at the sight,
Turns out the two brats were only half-right.
Cinderburn had blue eyes and gold hair like flax,
And dreamed of killing her family with an axe.
The night before the family was to go to a ball,
Cinderburn awoke and crept down the hall.
She locked all the bedroom doors from outside,
She fetched an oil lantern she'd managed to hide.
Lighting the lantern, she said a few prayers,
And hurling it aside, she headed downstairs.
Out on the lawn she heard shouts, heard screams,
Watched the rising fire she'd seen in her dreams.
When the house was ablaze, she turned onto the road.
She left her dear family and humble abode.
Now you know the truth, now the story is clear,
Now you can see why she ended up here.
Part III: Rose-Welt
Rose-Welt was a princess from family royal,
With black-white-red beauty to make your blood boil.
What could she do to end up this way?
You all know the story, or so you may say...
Rose-Welt's mother died, as they often do,
A step-mother arrived, quite naturally too.
The new Queen had a temper, had a jealous heart,
Had a mirror with which she would never part.
The mirror could talk, and could lie quite well.
It flattered the Queen...she was under its spell.
Rose-Welt could see through it, and so said she,
"You're mirror's wrong, Mamma, You're not prettier then me."
What the Queen hated most, with her heart all of black,
Was not other's beauty, but little girls who talked back.
Rose-Welt wasn't mindful, never noticed the change,
Never saw the plan that was being arranged.
She never noticed a thing until one sunny day,
While she was awaiting her sixteenth birthday.
Her step-mamma brought a basket of apples so red.
Poisoned quite enough to lay an elephant dead.
Rose-Welt took a bite, she began to contort,
She cursed the Queen's name, like a very poor sport.
But she didn't die, though we thought that she might.
Frankly, we didn't think she'd live through the night.
She got up the next day, on her cheek there was borne,
A red welt, like her face had been struck with a thorn.
And that mark has stayed, it's as simple as that.
You'll always pay if you're an uppity brat.
But that's not how she came to be here, not by far,
Not til they found the Queen's heart in a jar.
How it got there's a mystery, I haven't a clue,
I tell you the facts and leave the guessing to you.
Part IV: Spindleprick
Spindleprick was another sweet baby princess.
When royal babies are born, there is a process.
You have a big party, invite all the fairies,
They give the baby gifts...what kind of gift varies.
Sometimes it's talent, like singing or cooking,
But usually it's just about being good-looking.
This is probably why all princesses are pretty.
Poor kids don't get presents from fairies on pity.
(When they do, it's usually something dumb,
Like having loads of patience or a magical thumb.)
All that night, Spindleprick was showered with stuff,
Looks, charm, and good posture, which was more then enough.
But the King and Queen got greedy for even more traits,
They summoned up fairies who were in dire straits.
Now the one thing you must never do for your child,
Is call upon fairies who are evil and wild.
These fringe lunatics just want any excuse,
To doom your poor baby to some awful abuse.
And sure enough, a bad fairy whose name was Brynign,
Who was tired and bored and having a bad time,
Put a curse on little Spindle, God only knows why,
That she'd p***k her finger on a wheel and eventually die.
The King only laughed. p***k her finger on a wheel?
But they're perfectly round! And her finger would heal!
The King, you can tell, was not very bright.
He'd never heard of a spinning wheel until that night.
The good fairies warned him, he shooed them away.
They shrugged their winged shoulders and hit the buffet.
Spindleprick grew to be charming and very good-looking,
And incidentally not to bad at light cooking.
But she was gloomy quite often, like a black cloud that lingers.
For some reason she was always checking her fingers.
One day she noticed a splinter in her thumb,
She looked around for a pin and asked her mother for one.
The Queen, who was spinning, took the spindle from the wheel,
To remove the small splinter and let her thumb heal.
The rest is history, you know it quite well,
But whatever became of Brynign's evil spell?
Well as it turns out, Spindleprick didn't die.
She stretched out on the floor and there she will lie.
She's asleep, in a sleep cold as death and as black,
Her spirit's flown here and it's never gone back.
Part V
Now you know the true stories, why their lives where cut short,
Why certain people end up in the Imaginary Court.
So the next time you read to your children at night,
if you must read them fairy tales...
don't turn off the light.
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