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
