Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

They wanted a princess, they got a ghost

If I slit, it's for desire,
For I am a feather
Losing vane, bent at
The middle and torn
On the inside.

I walk a trail of waste,
Remembering the way the
Windows sing after the
Rain glitters down.

The moon burns brighter
Than your sun, leaving
Crators and dust in my mind.

It's waning, and so am I,
Ready to open my arms to
A creator, for this spirit
Is no pair and cannot
Sing her song much longer.

Taken by the wrist,
They grab at me to dance,
But I am not allowed.

I was never their kind of copper;
I was always a ghost.


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They wanted a princess, they got a ghost

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