The crying is distant and simply a muse
The lying is vacant and sworn to amuse
The hymns and the crooning that curtain her head
The warnings she whispered that filled her with dread
She lies in the cradle of the newly born snow
The willow in mourning won’t halt her warm woe
Her bitterness raised and having bitten her soul
She begged that the morning could swallow her whole
They don’t see the ivory and they don’t see the pure
Not the haze, nor the faint, nor the boldly obscure
The mistress of the mist and her white glass tale
Hides buds of regret under her midnight white veil
Who’d turn to look round at the shadows in sight?
She must be they said, just a trick of the light
Some sauntered, some simmered, and some stepped on the air
But one thing they didn’t was hasten to stare
At the ground, underfoot, beneath the cold god of stars
Down below she observed through cruel wilted bars
They trod, they stroked, they plundered and plopped
They pranced, others flounced, and some even hopped
Healing, she was healing and it was all she could feel
Lacerations, faint traces were the scars of their heels
She’s melted, she’s withered, it was as she was told
But then why, she wondered did she feel quite so cold?
No one noticed, no one paid heed, no one not then
Would even glance sideways, to see her again
Years were such beacons and deceptive grey blurs
They came and they parted and were never truly hers
The veil was her prison, her palace, and her sky
The ground beneath she could not see and therefore was a lie
I found her lying down, just a bit ahead
I saw her in the distance and the snow below was red
She had tucked away the shadows and kissed them each with care
They had always been her subtle dream and most devoted nightmare
She never saw me coming, she never had a chance
She closed her eyes and made no cries and took no second glance
If she had known about me and seen me from far away
Would she have waited one more time or think I might betray?
The statue carved from moonlight, the angel none would mend
She never even heard her songs until the very end
We never see the wind howl, we never see our fright
We couldn’t see her silhouette but we could see the light
So this would be our lesson and to me it’s clear as mud
We might deny that we see pain, but we can still see blood
The mistress of the mist, the girl who seduced her fate
She knew it best and I attest, we always see too late