She is a tune composed by the world
Forged at ocean's depth becoming a pearl
The hum in my throat as she passes through
Finding tranquility, gazing at galaxies purple and blue
Fingers of life strumming over her harp
Some nails blunt, other nails sharp
Some strings have snapped, others are broken
But she still blooms, her flowers still open
The audience is ready, the spectators are seated
Ever-giving melodies that are never depleted
Her touch firm and delicate, forming insatiable chords
Gliding between scales, all in awe as she performs
A woman with a lightning whip and fire in her eyes
Restoring her Power and Peace, Rejoicing on Moon's High
And when life is hard, with no real point
Just gift her a smile, and make her go "oink, oink".
