Her Last Home - Demether

Just like oil on canvass…

Touch of red, mostly black…

Thick are the air and the fog that hide her from you…

Weeps… shadow…

Cries … sparkle…

«She sleeps, she sleeps…»

Once in time, there she was

Standing by the willow tree

Longing for an old feeling, being his…

Now she is like a torn flower

Alone…

Among the trees, and underneath the leaves

There is her last home, she lies there all alone