This is the girl

This is the girl for whom all tears fall
This is the girl who was having a ball
Just a dark smear masking the eyes
Spirited away buried in sighs.

This is the girl who crossed the line
This is the song of the smothering vine
Twisted as laurel to crown her head
Laid as a wreath upon her bed

This is the girl.

This is the blood that turned into wine
This is the wine of the house it is said
This is the girl who yearned to be heard
So much for cradling a smothering bird

This is the girl.
This is the girl.

This is the girl for whom all tears fall
This is the girl who was having a ball
This is the laurel to crown her head
This is the wine of the house it is said.

This is the blood that turned into wine
This is the wine of the house it is said
This is the girl who yearned to be heard
So much for cradling a smothering bird

This is the girl.
This is the girl.
This is the girl.