The fit is the scream of silence
As she floats high above the burning field
Her face made up and beautiful
It covers her boundless anger like a shield
Upon her skin, beneath her shirt
Roadmaps of savagery lead away from gods
Never guided by pointed lances
Or the wrath of those that fix the odds
Her shoulder blades break back
Onto which they’ll bolt her metal wings
As she floats above mass graves
And the opulence of the baron kings
Her hair is fire touched by silver
Her screams are iron plated in gold
She hears the laughter below
At the funny story of why she was sold
Rain pours from her like her soft song
Singing to the soldiers as she floats up high
It’s a sweet song that will be sung forever
Her gift to the world sweet sufferings lullaby
