Prologue

[Instrumental]

A morning in magenta, the petals fed from the dew

She held her breath for a moment, to pause off the stream

Still clinging to vast, old memories

And I would marvel at her beauty, playing through the rain

The coffin is beautifully engraved

Stained by soil, symbols of death

All of which are stared upon, with porcelain eyes it seems

Some spoke, and it was my turn to go

In death entwined, I could not believe

But it hangs around my neck

A soft breeze passed me by, somewhat warmer for a second

I knew it was the coming of spring, thus our April ethereal