She was made out of ribbons and butterflies
She floated with a tragic grace and a melancholy smile painted on her face
She only existed by the magic and wonder of lost yesterdays
There was a quite storm of rage and sorrow trapped in her eyes
She found comfort in the fingertips of deaths cold grip
Though she could no more die than she could sleep or dream
And she could not sleep or dream for she was made of dreams
She lived in streches of hours and days
And inbetween seconds and flashes
She was neither here or there
But always everywhere
The ocean crashed and rolled within the threads of her hair
Tidal waves of mist hid her ever flowing tears
In moments of secrecy she prayed for the extinction of ribbons
And of a burning blaze to consume the last wing of all butterflies