Her electric soul,

her aching soul

is scared and shines a

cowardly light.

They call her humble,

humble and divine.

Who wouldn’t love a girl

with skin so fine?

She prays on his name under amber night,

with gentle lips, that drip honey

in subtle moonlight.

She wears a thousand faces,

A thousand and one.

But doesn’t seem to have the face

that will make him come.