There she is again.
Going over the edge.
Flying.
Alone.
I've never seen her after that.
The ghosts float in the river.
The white ships have sailed.
The church is destroyed.
Cold is the maker's hand.
Black sky.
Stars.
Awake.
At last.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
There she is again.
Going over the edge.
Flying.
Alone.
I've never seen her after that.
The ghosts float in the river.
The white ships have sailed.
The church is destroyed.
Cold is the maker's hand.
Black sky.
Stars.
Awake.
At last.