Blind eyes of the night,
Half a moon to gaze at,
Half a moon to cry for.
She steps on broken hearts,
Pieces of fierce glass
That used to be mirrors.
She walks a little too close
To the burning walls of hell.
The gates will burn too;
The fire can no longer contain
The wave of iced hearts.
She picks the broken pieces
Till her fingers bleed,
Till those walls turn to ashes.
She steps on the ashes,
Till they embrace the ground
Till one can no longer tell
Ashes from the soil.
A slow death, she says,
Is the cure to all pain.
And her last world is
Now ash, soil and blood.
She flies to a new world,
Of iced hearts and blind eyes.
Half a moon to gaze at,
Half a moon gazing back.
Beautiful Sanhita...
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