The sun is working her magic,
​to overturn a tragedy,
​to overturn the sadness of the moon.

Seasons have passed,
​the birds are singing spring,
​the lakes are waving summer,
​the leaves are weaving autumn,
​and the trees are humming winter.

Then there she is,
​trapped in her own music box,
​being lost all she is,
​dreaming of the outside world,
​when she is her own key.

Why cannot she see,
​that the moon and the stars,
​are rooting for her,
​For all she was,
​for all she is,
​and for all she will ever be.

Seasons have passed,
​The melodies of her memories are safely kept by spring,
​The swings of her thoughts are kept by summer,
​The thread of her past by autumn,
​And the rhythms of her footsteps by winter.

Then there she is,
​trapped in her own notes,
​dreaming of being found,
​by the outside world,
​when she is her own song.

Why cannot she see,
​that the entire universe,
​are rooting for her,
​For all she was,
​for all she is, ​
​and for all she will ever be