It was chaos, at the very start
The time of war, of crimson blood
Of knives heavy with the smell of life
It was that time when she
Stumbled upon the forbidden spinning wheel
Who was she, this little one?
Prophesied with her destiny sealed
Who was she, this little girl?
Whose vital role was to comply?
Staring at the working wheel
Drawing droplets of blood
And giving in to her dreaded curse
For a thousand years may have passed
Still she slept on, this girl
Another thousand years
When he found her ageless and out of place
Who was she, this little one?
Sleeping in a bed of dust
Who was she, this little girl?
Guarded by the cobweb’s spiders
Old ruins of a spinning wheel
Heavily stained, with that of blood
Alas she woke, ending her dreaded curse
This little girl, he kissed upon.
No comments:
Post a Comment