Birds are singing in their cages
Even then they refuse to be humbled
As the wind blows torn out pages
Don't you feel out the path that you stumble
And as the shadows form around her perfect line of light
A mystery of gleaming timbers
Now swept away by waves of air into the coming night
As flocks of day are screaming over
She's the bear that is within her skin
Rips through iron flesh effortlessly
She, portrayed in the light of the hill
Covered in gore, the waif that you see

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