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from a fairy godmother, a lost call,
bells, dust, and dollars on the waste,
last visitors and no poker face.
But a smile from under the veil,
the mysterious prisoner without a bail,
as a quick spider, weaving its web,
a princess is meaningless for a pleb,
A flower, a rose, a common sense,
the wars of angels are getting tense,
and while you´re waiting with a bouquet,
your lips may lie, but your eyes aren´t okay.
And so a chilling mist couldn't fell,
not for a song disguised as a yell,
thus lower your back, take your poise,
in this orchestra of static noise.
This is not the end, as the wars may come,
the moon is for all, but the stars are for some,
what can I say, I just can not lie,
but for a smile, how many can die?
She painted like a kid with her hands,
the flowers, the dollars, the common sense,
and the visitors came after all,
to pay her and to see her fall...
There´s something wrong with what you had paid for...
