she sings like the rain and walks like summer. she never stops, not even when she has ran out of songs to sing (she just makes new ones up). words doesn't mean anything, a la (curt and unfeeling) and doe (nimble steps to follow mr. la) and miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii (that sharp cry escaping from the depths of her lungs, exposed to all the world to hear) are all she is contended with. one day she might be singing a love song to a lone flower (found trampled at the side of the road) and another, odes about long-lost heroes come pouring out from her. no one know where she came from, where she is heading to and where she will eventually end up (dead at the side of the road, most probably) but no one bothered. not when her songs were there to charm and seduce them (she's evil, i'm telling you!)
she sang like the rain and walked like summer.
the city swallowed her voice, kept her from listening to the songs she had inside. and so, she became one of them. those that spoke like winter and ran like the winds of autumn (bent on stripping all trees of their leaves)
mommy, one day i want to be like the girl who sang like the rain and walked like summer.