Cinder crushed her delicate foot as she placed her weight upon it,
what is she doing, all alone, walking through that old garden?
Her hand holds shakily in winter's chill,
that rusted old lantern!
the weeds are tearing silently, clothes hung on for nocturne.
Looking, looking, for a piece of each dear one to remember...
they all grew here once upon a time, but now it is December.
Each one she loved, with broken hugs, from her distant castle...
for it wasn't till they all had passed, that brave she could come down here.
Her heart beaks open ever more,
Nothing but ashes grows here no more!
Time has sealed the cellar door,
And emptied the garden's branches.
With soft wind, in shaky light, an old scarecrow dances into the night!
without the life of her dear ones,
her insides no more than branches.