It was an obscure place, where the birds froze in the middle of the cold sky
It was an afterlife amidst an acute illusion of light and white
Those frozen birds cannot understand why they would not fly
The illusion ate the light and spat darkness under its somber eyes

It was an imperfection to the somber eyes of reality
It was a solitude to the shattered beauty of gravity
Each atom felt the frozen fear of that frigid tragedy
Each mollecule fell asleep inside that rigid virtuality

Secrets are kept inside an icy air
While a little girl walks by the line of ashes on the ground
Burnt dreams and dreamy burns incinerate what is good and fair

The little girl lay herself over the ashes, as the hail crashes down
The ashes are so light, lighter than her red hair
Her somber eyes want to escape from that place, she will not be found

That place is not made of art
That place is her broken heart