See that cursed fire?
That golden fire?
It burns higher.
And deeper down.
She's just a legend.
Just a name,
Just a story.
Nobody's seen her face.
She's a ghost.
She's a powerful witch.
They say she's scary.
What else, they won't confess.
Because this is a small town.
Small hearts,
small minds,
Living boxes.
They don't let her live here.
So she lives alone.
Deep down into the woods,
near the cliffs and near the souls.
Once this poor Mary, she had her heart broken.
John used her and he dumped her.
"But it's your own fault!", her mother said.
"Sinners will have to suffer."
So this Mary, she went into the woods.
And there was the witch, near the water bank.
They say she possessed Mary, who had no chance.
Mary never came back.
That Mary now, she calls her mother.
From London or Paris.
They all say,
That she's a sinner.
But Mary knows better.
That day, she saw light and fire.
She saw branding hope.
Inside her.
No witch,
No ghost.
Just her.
But she was wrong.
That witch, that ghost, that story,
She now lives in Paris, sometimes London.
She calls her mother.
Who calls her sinner.
But she's a star,
where she now lives.
And she's not nameless.
They call her Phoenix.
