Like shinning stars,
Dead inside,
Like wilting lily flowers,
The depicting story of death
resides,
In the cankerous urban towers
Pallid, ashen face smiles,
As the tides of anger ebb,
The midnight train is passing
by,
The weight of hope is shed.
Hopeless, dejected, she roams
alone,
In the bleak mid-winter
weather,
Alas! A part of her is dead!
As the other is put together
For the fire within is still
burning bright,
She is fighting under the
raging light,
To claim what her body denies
And live until the fire
survives.
So when she's gone don't mourn
her death,
For every flower that once
bloomed,
Should die,
Mourn as she withers fool!
Mourn as you deny her, her
right.
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