Look for me in a book without pictures and you will not find me. Look for me in a book of her and you shall find me. She is not me, yet I am she, and of all that I can see or do, no one gets to me like you.
She cries, she cries, she sings, and falls from the wing, from Heaven, too high to hold that lofty head of alabaster seas and star-drenched skies, and so she fell, she fell, she fell, to the waves that echo down below in the hearts of those that don't know the way for all to be, yet she sees the things she's meant to see. Will you be there when she falls, into the skies that shed her soul, waterless and ignored, into the minds of those she doesn't care a thing about? Leave me alone and let her go, let the stars burn that want her around, and remember always to let her go, into the hearts of the ones that she knows and knows unkind.
Here have I come and come undone, now let me go into the stars, on my way to be with the one that lets me go and lets me know who I am, that I am she, yet am I still free? Having let you know, I must go.