Come and let me tell you a story,
A story about a kind
yet lonely storyteller.
All alone she lived
in the mountains,
Rarely leaving
but always listening,
Always watching
the world that lie below her.
Alone she spent
her time weaving stories,
Creating worlds
from her imagination.
Always lost in
thought,
Always dreaming
of another place.
Why she stayed
though,
Was because she
was a broken person.
All alone she lived
in the mountains,
Rarely leaving
out of fear of the world,
Yet she always
longed to know more.
To see and hear
the world,
To learn more
stories,
To experience the
things she had only dreamt about.
Alone she spent
her time weaving stories,
Creating worlds
from her imagination.
Letting herself
become lost in the dreams,
To escape the
world she both loved and hated.
Because its
people were both so kind yet so cruel,
Because she was
always alone in the end.
Let me tell you
story,
A story with no
happy or sad ending,
One still
unfinished.
All alone she
lived in the mountains,
Rarely leaving
but always listening,
Always watching
the world that lie below her.
Alone she spent
her time weaving stories,
Creating worlds
from her imagination.
Always lost in
thought,
Always dreaming
of another place.
For she was a
broken and delicate soul,
Easily hurt, easily
broken,
Always alone in
the end.
Yet still full of
wonder,
A still flawed
and hurt,
But gentle soul.
Let me tell you a
story,
To forget the pain,
To ignore the
pain,
The sadness and
hate.
To let everything
go,
To escape for
just a moment.
All alone she
lived,
Always silently
weaving stories.
Rarely leaving,
Yet always
watching,
Always
remembering.
She was a broken
and delicate soul,
Easily hurt,
easily broken,
Always alone in
the end.
Rarely leaving
out of fear of the world,
Yet always longing,
To experience the
things she had only dreamt about.
Come and let me
tell you a story,
A story about a
kind yet lonely storyteller.
A story still unfished,
One that is
neither simply happy or sad.
But instead, let
us escape.
Go to another
world,
Born from our
imaginations,
Our dreams and
wishes,
Our hopes and
prayers.
There I want to
stay,
There I find
myself free.
All alone she
lived,
Always silently
weaving stories.
Rarely leaving,
Yet always
watching,
Always
remembering.
She was a broken
and delicate soul,
Easily hurt, easily
broken,
Always alone in
the end.
Yet still full of
wonder,
A still flawed
and hurt,
But gentle,
loving soul.
One who both loves
and hates,
A lonely girl who
continues to weave,
To create
stories,
A world of her
own,
While all alone,
In her painful sadness,
Her happy dreams;
