She saw her world under her feet, crumbling
she allow anything to turn into dust,
she saw her lucky stars, crashing and falling,
her dreams are just daydreams
as her masquerade disintegrating.
She make her flowers bloom,
in a room with gloom,
she saw herself monochromic
on white wall
like a rorschach into her skin.
When her day is plain,
she feels so strange,
as if the tides subside,
it's not beautiful
without the sun's treacherous
shadow that carries the light of moon.
Her mind is a four-trick wheel
like a kaleidoscope spinning in her different shades.
She is the gift of catastrophe,
her secret keeps her real.
You wrap your hands around her,
this injustice won't be seen
but she'll appear as a morning star
if you stare.
You'll see at the end,
the sunlight penetrating her whole
and twilight gnawing the sky.
You'll see at the end,
she's another paradise and burning embers,
she's another midnight and another stranger.