She’s floating high, below the rooftops
Not quite alive, but real as raindrops
You feel her, sliding down your face
But it’s completely dry
He wanders round, upon your sleeping floor
He can’t resist, to close your open door
You feel him, feel him like your breath
And taste his death
Why does she hide?
Can’t she decide?
Is fear what drives this metamorphosis?
But what becomes, of human kind, the soul the mind
When I fall from grace