When Miranda begins to sing,
Everyone turns away,
And the misleading murders of crows,
Start to lead us astray.

We seem to be like mochingbirds,
Doing everything we see,
Everything we seem to hear,
But we really live alone as we be.

And our holy one tells us,
That we should act like she,
Our one and only lady of sorrows,
The one that speaks to me.

She spoke in souch a sharp tongue,
It cut my veins to run dry,
She left me there in my very own red liquid,
She left me here to die.

And when Miranda begins to sing,
Everyone turns away,
And the misleading murders of crows,
Start to lead us astray.

 
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