She stands upon the wind-brushed brass
While all the tiny people pass
A darkened soul once traced the lines
Now dull and weathered, lost to time
Would she weep for a brightened start
If a beat thumped in her eroded heart?
Her personage, known far and wide
Will never hold a dream inside
The vines that flowered long ago
Now only cry of death and woe
And still the city passes by
While the statue stands, a living lie
The people love, the birds will trill
As her silhouette is frozen still
For forever she will break alone
Her prison an eternal garden of stone.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 11:44 PM UTC
She stands upon the wind-brushed brass
While all the tiny people pass
A darkened soul once traced the lines
Now dull and weathered, lost to time
Would she weep for a brightened start
If a beat thumped in her eroded heart?
Her personage, known far and wide
Will never hold a dream inside
The vines that flowered long ago
Now only cry of death and woe
And still the city passes by
While the statue stands, a living lie
The people love, the birds will trill
As her silhouette is frozen still
For forever she will break alone
Her prison an eternal garden of stone.