The Lady In Black
She sits upon a pedestal,
Of polished ebony,
She sits upon a pedestal,
And gazes out to sea,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Trying to make up for a lack,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Dressed in only black.
Her hair is long and flowing,
Her eyes are specks of white,
Her face lacks any glowing,
Her lips are small and tight.
Her eyes see long and far,
Through the ages of time,
But her face does a tear mar,
So she sits and pines.
She sits upon a pedestal,
Of polished ebony,
She sits upon a pedestal,
And gazes out to sea,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Trying to make up for a lack,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Dressed in only black.
She is tall and narrow,
With skin of ivory,
Her voice is as a sparrow�s,
As pretty as can be.
But for all her cherished beauty,
There is something that she lacks,
So with melancholy and sadness,
She hides within her black.
She sits upon a pedestal,
Of polished ebony,
She sits upon a pedestal,
And gazes out to sea,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Trying to make up for a lack,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Dressed in only black.
Her heart is hard and cold,
But longs to soften and thaw,
Her fingers are long and bold,
But might as well be paws.
She has no one to care for,
No one to hold tight,
She retains worlds of lore,
But has no one with which to share her might.
She sits upon a pedestal,
Of polished ebony,
She sits upon a pedestal,
And gazes out to sea,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Trying to make up for a lack,
She sits upon a pedestal,
Dressed in only black.
