The River
There once was a girl, named Donna O’Connor.
She laughed and she sang, and danced with great honor.
She danced with her heels, her legs and her back.
Fanciful artform, she didn’t lack.
One day she went home, in the dying light.
She walked near the river, didn’t notice her plight.
She was on the shore, when she fell in the river.
She fell in the river, and it took her in.
She danced with the river, and dances no more.
No laughing or singing, or dancing no more.
The river runs high, the river runs low.
It tells all it’s secrets, to those that would know.
To tell you its secrets, it asks for a dance.
You dance with the river, and you’ll dance no more.
His name is Martin, and he’s out for the night.
To meet with his lover, in the moon’s pale light.
He tells her he loves her, with his heart and soul.
But she is a ghost, dead in a hole.
He wishes she was alive, to hold in his arms.
But dead is forever, there are no qualms.
He can stand it no more, without his one love.
He takes to the cliff, the river he’s above.
He thinks of his loved one, up until dawn.
He jumps off the cliff, and now he is gone.
He danced with the river, and dances no more.
No crying or wishing, or longing no more.
The river runs high, the river runs low.
It tells all it’s secrets, to those that would know.
To tell you its secrets, it asks for a dance.
You dance with the river, and you’ll dance no more.
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