She's lost in the little bush that surrounds her past.
The throats is thirsty
For the good of happiness
Her cloaks are waving
With dust and grims
Her eyes bulge
With darkness gruff
Her hands are stuck
Fumbling with lions of hope
Looking through the windows pane
Of unwavering happiness and joy.
Her white garment is stained
With filth of emotions lack.
She's lost.. .
Lost in her Prime...
