Grey skinned girl, walking the streets of fire, turning herself into ashes.
Post to post, the vibrance of a wooden lemon, the zest of her own divine hope.
Dust might cover her, for she would rather be unseen,
flowers may, or may not -
The winter shall not be as grey as her, and the men should not ever own,
her light feet.
Gather the world, into heartbreak, ponder around like a mute.
Grey skin girl, where will you go now?
Home is long passed so now you must flee.
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