• They hang there blankly
    twinkling in the night.
    They've given up hope,
    they can see no respite.

    They hang silently
    under a beam of oak.
    They rock silently
    their souls are revoked.

    Their eyes twinkle softly
    with memories of bliss.
    Memories before this time
    before their necks were hard and stiff.

    They shed a single tear,
    it slithers all the way.
    It drops through the air
    and splashes to dismay.

    Into a dark river
    forever flowing
    beneath the hanged
    it's never slowing.

    Flowing with these tears
    it rushes with might
    over the glistening rock
    and down where there's no light.

    All the maidens' pain
    flows through a river
    with everyone else's,
    no hope is delivered.

    They shine in the sun
    as it rises overhead.
    They shine with hope
    that they wont soon be dead.

    Though they hang over death
    with nothing but thoughts.
    These maidens of ice
    aren't hopeless, just lost.

    Soon spring will come
    and tears will drip more.
    They will drip to the river
    as life is restored,

    and no one will care
    as this river keeps flowing.
    For it is only natural
    that the tears are kept showing.

    The maidens will melt
    into something deserved
    iced hearts into current,
    their beauty preserved.

    The maiden's hearts will be at rest,
    they will laugh and shout,
    they will dance down the falls,
    their hope, they will never be without.

    As they dance throughout the air
    they will leave behind a symbol.
    An arc of great colors.
    the grief's begun to dwindle.

    Though the hanged are still hanging
    still cracked and destroyed
    though they must not give up
    the pain must be devoid.

    The hanged shed tears
    the tears burn their cheek
    they hurt as they fall
    each tear is unique.

    Each tear is different.
    Each pain not the same.
    They dim away hope.
    They fill life full of pain.

    The maidens must reach out to grab
    what little hope is seen,
    and pull with all remaining strength,
    if they want it to redeem.

    Still, the hanged must sway
    together in the breeze.
    They must hang in the gallows,
    till Spring answers their pleas