Underneath the moonlight the birds hide,
And during the midnight the lady wakes up with pride.
She puts on her make up,
With the mascara shining on her face.
She enters her room,
What an awful place.

The darkness overwhelmed her,
And the silence cried.
Deep in the nighttime,
It brought her a big fright.
She couldn’t see herself in the mirror,
It was as cloudy as it can be,
She sure would have been a liar,
If she smiled with glee.

This Lady I speak of,
She reminds me of death.
She reminds me of hatred,
That I just can't forget.
Her eyes are weary,
Her hair is grey.
I sure doesn’t look pretty,
With those lines on her face.

But, now she sits still
With those cloudy eyes.
In a room full of sorrow,
And an elegant prize.
The prize of death,
The prize of peace.
The prize of isolation,
That would bring her ease.