A voice of a violin that cries, that wails through the night to the twisted melody of a moon lit sonata. Cherry blossoms cover her head, like hair sprawled out on a bed.
Like a violin her voice sings a cry, a cry that makes you feel alive. A spring so cold, a winter so old, a song so bold.
Will it reach the skies?
Will it reach that high?
How much will it take to fly?
The sound of the violin becomes more desperate, it's cry reaching as far as it can.
Far under that water where you stand.