In the flowing lights of a musical romance, there lives a queen.

And she dances so violent.
She sings so silent.

She is everything, anything, heart filled with happiness, soul filled with sadness.
Mind filled with madness.

She is flawed perfection, the crack in logic we crave.
The innocent child we all wish to save.

She is waves, she is fire, she's not me.
But I'm here, I'm alive and I'm her.

Her creator, her pain and her love.
I am everything, anything, nothing at all.

Running wild, standing tall. What is real, what is truth, what is lie, who am I?

Is it me or the world who is wrong, who does wrong, who acts wrong, am I wrong?

In the blank spaces, there dances a queen, and in the ink that are lines, here rests I.

For this book is me.
And captured between infinate pages I fly free.