Have you ever questioned what the world told you?
Not the people, but the answers in the trees?
Dearest little girl, I have always wondered,
What keeps the stars in your eyes?
What is it about you that keeps the people on their knees?

Everything I've heard about you isn't uncommon.
An average child raised mediocre ways.
An average girl, for which the world turns,
By the grace of a lord with which a story unfolds.

Was it because of you the heavens were made?
And your ancestors the tortures we pay?
Those who aren't worthy, don't matter,
And yet the world is left to suffer in the hells which you created.

In an instance, overcast fills the skies,
And silence chokes the crowd.
For the one which caused no problems,
Is beheaded, as foretold by the heirs.

Little girl, you know you can save us all.
But instead you cover your face,
Hide back among the casted shadows,
Almost as if you know more than us, we're forced to wait.

The bishop promised you'd sing to the world,
You'd grace us with your immortal glory.
All left to happen now is the spreading of horrendous rumors,
All across town, burning ears and mouths like blazing forest fires.

You left us in an almighty darkness,
With the inevitable, death left to come.
All we live off, with gracious hopes,
Is the nightmares which remain,
Explaining why, if you loved us so,
Left us in this unforgivable misery.