Of all the souls wandering around. Hers was the only one. Taken away out of sight. Dim, mine was slight.
Come sing me a song. As every soul runs long. Your story is yet to tell. When you are in hell.
I see souls wandering around. Distinct stories of life that surround. Their feet hardly touch the ground. I heard hardly any sound.
I need to recite the perfect spell. I seek for a convincing story to tell. But everything will come to an end. Like the happy feeling of finishing a good book. It is unexpected and true.