The woman who was reading poetry
Waiting for Sunday
Two blackbirds kept bringing her poems
From her old lover
Knowing time was closing by
He'd come when her candle began flickering
She placed her book aside and danced with the waves
Walking deeper every time
She never spoke
Her eyes lit like the clear night sky
Friends never visited
They had become scarecrows in a desert land
Waiting for Sunday
She once inscribed a phrase using dead fallen stars
Her wings turned red by the bloody mattress on which she lay
Somewhere used to be angels hiding among us
During a rainy night
She gave her revitalizing breath to misery and apathy
Hoping to change the world
Betrayed, and left without words
Realized that love is but another lie
She gave up her wings
Fell in love with Death
He gave her a shovel
Sunday has come
Hearts melting like snow
It's Sunday winter
Sorrowful shell slowly melting 
Revealing her sad, split apart heart
Upon the rock of temptation where she lost her voice
She danced with just his memory once again
Then shoveled a hole and buried her wings and heart
Oh, the irony! She just breathed twice and yet
Betrayed, not even at the moment of her dying breath
He never came to offer her the last dance
The crows came again though
This time bearing a letter
It was time to end that story.
.

Apocalyptica-Farewell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADzeM3VsgFg