A sweet angel, with wings that had bled,
and the sorrows in the wind, demons in her head.
She radiated like the sun, bright in the Colorado sky,
and I wish she could have stayed, didn’t have to die.
The Demons that beat me down, she rose above.
I couldn’t find the way. She followed path of love.
In a book store, I read of her, and came to the light.
To a world so endless and warm and so blindly bright.
After these years, and the warmth has gone cold, light gone.
I still call to her in these endless nights, fighting until dawn.
The Church was just a smile on a corpse, a deathlike rage.
But she still shines. She was real. She was the Holy Mage.
I’m driving across the plains, to where I can give my soul.
I love her still, she led me back to light, even as bitterness takes it’s toll.
Love her like an angel, a saint, a magic known only in a fraction of days.
Maybe she loves me back, maybe I make her proud, as this Lost Child prays.