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.