Walking under the shadow of the moon,
Sketching her tomorrow with a sense of impending doom.
A portrait of Lassie inside her mind,
A state of being vexed, she went blind.
The troubles she holds in her frozen hands,
She tries to bury it in the sand.
She laments and weeps,
With the shelf ye built, she conceals.
Yet she desired to be seen,
But no one paid her any heed.
Until she attracts an individual,
Who makes her better than usual.
The bitter tongue he wants to taste,
And the wounds he touches around her waist.
As she listens to his calming voice,
She forgets the muffled noise.