Just my mind going bye-bye

And the ghost child dreams beneath the snow
And all its dreams wear the smile
Of the tiny mortal it loved so long ago
Back when she herself was but a child.
From a dream it calls her name
But she fails to hear it
She is too in love with pain
To hear the calling of the spirit.
And the ghost child dreams on and on
From January through December
And to the drum-beat of some song
Like woods-men cutting timber.
And the sorrow of its essence
Bursts forth in orange flame
Still she fails to feel the presence
Between the nameless and the name.

The somke of its torment spirals high
In wispy clouds to paint the sky
Until the sound of it is heard
Above the wind; and above the thunder
The super real fiery bird
Cocks his head in wonder
Before swooping down from heavens portal
And sweeping up the common mortal.
The tiny mortal squalls
In tormet of the white hot claws
Clasped about her naked waist
Burning hair and melting face.
The firebird soars in flaming skies
Leaving only trails of smokey cries
White ash and orange
between the nameless and the name.