As sadness takes its toll, and all worries and sorrows flow through her heart, I can do nothing but pray. And I pray for her joy, for her pride, for her reasons to live. I want to see her free, living happy as a fairy’s child beneath the waves. But the world in which she has been born offers no help at all. And all the images and words feel so small now, when tainted by tears they succumb to the dark. And it is criminal to break her porcelain heart, and it is this world’s manic delusion to break her porcelain skin. And the chain of tears is unleashed over the coat of dust, and all her world begins to fall apart. Heir apparent to an unplayable sadness, midwinter tears her crown to be. Doomed to suffer the whip of her kin, a crystal rose in Blake’s line. And no, we do not have Paris and Casablanca is but a dream long forgotten amidst the sand storms and veils of her memory.
And as the coil of life tightens her grip upon her throat, mist ripples round her thin white neck, and she seems to lose it all. Mermaids cry over the salty tears of their sister, all the creatures of the moon hang their heads low in sorrow. And as the crows and wolves sing a midnight hymn, she fades in the mists of life, crying to the heavens above for a path. Can you see my hand, can you see the light? Here I am, you are not alone, we are never alone. Come on angel, it is not yet your time to go. Come, time to fly and find the sun. Time to become who you always wanted to be.
And still, as the moon shines over the silver people, I can only hear one melody, one single song of words I’m not sure to understand. I wonder where the sun will be tomorrow. Don’t you worry, no matter where it is, we’ll found it.
