At the darkest hour,
When only the stars illuminate,
A girl is dancing to an everlasting song,
Sung by the thorns below her that hold her in place.
Twisting around as a ballerina in a jewelry box,
She is nested in the ground,
Forever turning.
You listen to the words they shout,
But still you turn in these grounds.
A spell is tying you to where you stand.
Why do you listen?
Why don’t you run?
