Afraid of imperfection
She tip toes
Under a stranger’s roof
Sick with insecurities
She doesn’t dare claim a place
An uninvited guest
She accepts her fate

I’m doomed to be inferior
But I lack the gift of obedience

People say
I am foolish to bury
These fallen flowers
But who knows
When the time comes
Who will bury me
When the time comes
When the time comes

The shadow of a crane
Travels over frozen pond
She buries the soul of her poetry
Under a cold, cold moon
Buries the soul of her poetry
Under a cold, cold moon
As the coughing clouds roll in, roll in
Betrothed to the coughing clouds
As the coughing clouds roll in, roll in
Betrothed to the coughing clouds