In ancient times and shattered wings
With kings and queens that age begins
With ideas of peace and grand and fame
The story might seem a simple frame.

They gathered at one’s place to talk bout days
Glancing through the window at the outsides grace
At the trees trembling under the sun’s eyes
The wind blowing and the moons arise.

The sweet gentle lady with the bloody red dress
Asked the kind man a story to tell
Yet he hesitated and said with a small voice:
“My dear lady do I have a choice?”

Words he said jumped through the room
The nights embraced the flowers in bloom