Youthful and bright- when skipping madly down the hill
through the oak trees and past the water mill
the green leaves, secret shells, and animal bones
what is "out there" to me when I am so free?
but why can't I lift off this ground, why must
I tumble down--I cannot simply fly?
stumbles, dazzled by a lonely polished stone
catches a dandelion puff in the breeze
then she continues on...

Father spring holds the child in his glove
estranged to others still, she knows the nature of love
And so she'll slowly knit those dream seeds
around the growing weeds, and well....
Proposes to her favorite tree- whom she talks to every day
the ring is on his twiggy hand
My tree! My forest! My secret land!

A very ancient house, where tricksters and maidens play
Yet time grows old, sand fills her soul, the ocean parts away
Tallula drifts out on the ice, dismal and gray with sorrow
What did she wish--too much too soon? An even better tomorrow...?
She never got to fly, never got her wish for eternal sleep

Her lessons were skipped- her memory was tipped into the misty sea
enchantments of the flesh, which death holds closer still
She will now turn to darkened spells--bringing corpses to life
Her ruby tears, decaying hopes, a child's loss of strife
Behind their blinded eyes exists an other-side--
To them it's just a game of deceit or lies
Now the trickster has his happy ending-- a woman's story of sorrow
the wailing of the banshee, tragic and mournful and low
Can you hear her singing? what tidings is she bringing?
Perhaps it is a warning--be careful of the path you follow.