Snow white hair clings to the feathery branches
A dead witch, fallen before they knew her name,
She had so much to be good for, to change, so many chances
Her face like a childs, filled with hate and death
Her hair the the color of the pure, falling over whiter cheeks
Those cheeks with tears of blood, still wet
The rotting smell of graves fills her empty body, lying there for weeks
Blue eyes filled with the light of a beautiful soul
Her dress soaked in blood and broken dreams
Not even the loving hand of her mother could make her whole
This body is barren, she's no longer there, Hell, can you hear her screams?