The wound is deep, the ocean dried,
The pain won't leave, the unstable mind.
Shadows of misery, tend to grow,
from the glass angel, she turns cold.
On her head the roses bloom,
in her heart, there are none to.
The crisis miracle, beyond the lies, beyond the truth,
and the pain inside.
I look at the cracked reflection, lying across the room,
I look at the mirror - broken; I swoon.
The leaves turn brown, the roses cry
and as I stretch my wings, my feathers die.
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