With envy and jealousy; filled up with too much pride.
Like the pretentious, ostentatious, sirens of night,
They crave to be.
And oh, the sky must have love her.
I have heard the stars singing each to each;
She is the heaven's daughter,
The one who stole sun's garish.
She is the malady of art, the illusion of love,
And if I portrayed her with the sense of a soul,
Moon will rise above, (telling me that I'm wrong.)
This isn't enough.
Still, when she prudently severs from the light's lunacy,
As Hemera's mother always destined to win.
Fading, hoping, gliding between darkness
And the unknown.
She disappeared.
So I've been grabbing a lantern;
Looking for her into the night.
In the same way,
She's been looking for herself, while looking at the sky.
Saving her little forever,
hiding her daydreams and her smiles,
From the universe's eyes.
She looked real, and I went lost, I stood closer.
She was the muse and the feather.
Needed to know, I asked the sky,
Does she knows that all of the stars look at her ?
They did not respond, that wasn't fair.
They haven't laugh, so quietly,
I closed my eyes;
They looked at me.
