Waif-like drifter on a fading cloud
the saddest sound makes its rounds
The outer limit of this town
She speaks to herself somehow

How her life turned around
after hearing a siren sound
Oh, the wolves abound
As she stumbles from that crowd

And so her rueful mind aloud
split the seam and scheme and shout
for whatever worth she receives in clout
or any mirth that fuels her doubt

By the bracken broken, beaten paths
through trails of time and solemn laughs
she finds herself alone at last
In lonesome graves of her lovers past