White Magic

In a forest over the hill
There is a clearing with an oak
You'll find there what you seek
But only if your mind is really broken

Her gaze reminds you of summer
Her skin is made of winter
Balance is her name
And her words sweet and bitter

Your night made you grow
It must not be erased
Your morning is the guide
Your 'noon restores you
The evening delights
Then again the night
But I promise, it rolls by

Her words were made of peace
While they promise me war
Once you've learned to accept
Everything can be fought
Over the hill
Under that old oak
I learned to live again
Realizing it had been forgotten

Your night
Made you grow
It must not be erased
Your morning is the guide
Your 'noon restores you
The evening delights
Then again the night
But I promise, it rolls by



Credits
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