In a flourish of tutus,
Proud elegance in a swan's long neck,
Beauty in the enchanting movements,
Music paving a path to the depths of thought and dance,
A curse of bitter-sweet heart-ache,
Made from luscious mellow melodies,
Covering the sovereign in a flurry of glittering feathers,
From gliding wings, forever soaring as high as hope and unconscious passion,
Dancing upon a high cloud, leaping over majestic stars,
Twirling robotically with such smoothness and precision,
Fragile human machinery; well calculated,
Her longing arms stretched out wide in a drastic need of embrace; of the warmth of love,
The spectacle draws tears for the spectators to shed,
As no warmth is received, no modest love released from the drowned heart of a boy,
The poor swan is left agonized, spinning alone, numbness taking over,
Left to the intense cold of an empty world of loneliness,
As the thief runs away, stealing her bleeding heart,
Leaving her to wander ever on in the bitter cold and slowly fading music...