A widow standing by her pane,
the breeze of the night in her hair,
She caresses her cold memories
sees not the spring,
she’s frozen in the dying the grasp of time.
Rectify her vision,
Hold her heart, mend her mind,
Let her see through the fire in her tears,
break through all misconceptions
in her eyes – this is life…
Cruel are these feeling so sheer.

Crystal is her soul,
fight those iron-made memories
Hold on, is this struggle or strife?
My mind speaks of violence
my heart speaks of pain,
where am I, lost in this game?
Minute is reality,
My identity stands grey,
despair cannot spell my name.
Pulling through I can see me,
in these mirrored reflections,
dear conscious… survival is mine.