She sits atop a cliff. It doesn't matter where or how high, though she can't see the ground. She'd toss flowers over the side and munch on a never ending supply of carrots. Where the came from or what type of flower it was didn't matter. Trivial things don't matter. She was never popular and she knew it. But she doesn't mind. She can still sing from this high above. With the thin air and clogged ears, it makes singing more of a chore. (But it's what she likes to do.) She'll sing from her cliff, where no one can hear her.