She sits down on the bench, the wood cool on her...
Her hands brushing along the keys, just dying to...

Thunder clashes in the distance, lightening...
The beginning of a dance, raindrops the voice of a...

Tiny little glass snowflakes,
Fall upon the cold ground...

She begins to cry; her mascara running,
Washing away the fake beauty; oh how it made her...

Time echoes down the halls of the house,
Old wood and paint peeling away...

Standing on the side walk, on a rainy afternoon,
Watching people pass me by, not a single one...

Sitting down, with a pen in hand;
Drifting off to an imaginary land...

A red rose blooming to its full,
Standing there in all its glory...

A Sad Princess Tale
Another story here I tell...

She Walked In A Black Forest,
Past Dead, Decaying Trees...

It was this day, about sixteen years ago,
A baby was born on this wonderful day...

As she looks in the mirror,
She can see the broken heart...