Dancing 'round beneath these lies,

Her heart is dying, she scars, she cries.

Under the glossing pane of fear,

Her true self shines and opens near.

For we do not know what these tales bring,

Until the ghost reborn, and the birds sing.

Under the fiery flickering ring.

She must be contained, this is her trial.

Swimming, drowning, down the Nile.

Our hearts blossomed, worlds dimmed.

Our eyes bright, our heads pinned.

This we shall be, lying here.

But she is coming.

She is near.

Dead.

Are.

we.