She dances in hurricanes
Tears up paper 'til it's too thick to rip
With freckles on her shoulders and moonlight on her cheeks,
skin too delicate for one's mouth to meet
And say when those mouths gather the day she's gone,
"A firefly she was on the days she believed in herself,"
and move on.
She dances in hurricanes
in dresses of cotton and lace.
Winds and tiny needles pour across her ivory face
Winter is her Spring
Summer in Ireland
Her pale rose love is what mouths don't understand
So lay her soul down in a pasture to sleep
for she won't find skin as delicate as hers to meet
And sing her a song in a sweet, Irish melody
as she dreams in the love of rose-colored familiarity
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