*Swollen fingers, gripping the brushes
Sleepless hours, haunting the eyes of her youth
She'll never stop rising from ashes
Marvelling at her taste of ochre over crimson

Salty water blows up the color beyond
Breathing and crying, part of her dying
As the sun bled the sky, it bled the sky...
She loses her beautiful self to the world8

Eleven - Beautiful Self