The full moon tells her story well,
Of what this stranger did.
She never really would fit in,
Her face she always hid.
She was the rather quiet type,
So no notice anyone did take.
When she decided oh one day,
That her life was a mistake.

She picked a cool, crisp autumn night,
When everything was sound.
And at the stroke of twelve, midnight,
Her body hit the ground.
The stiff and silent trees say,
Her arms she slowly raised.
And stood on the edge of the ragged cliff,
In a staring spooky gaze.

Her weight she let fall forward,
So the wind was in her face.
And her eyes she made stay open,
While feeling like in a race.
Some say she wanted it too much,
Some say she wished too long.
But no one really wanted her,
Till one day she was gone.
 
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