The polka dotted sky, the sweep of the brush

The light dances in her eye, The softest sigh, the quiet hush
A whispered goodbye.

It's the witching hour, the cauldron boils
The light flickers in her eye,
The sweet turns to sour, the joys to toils
A silent goodbye.

There is a calm around, the serenity abound
The light dies in her eye,
The tear stained ground, the empty sound
At last she can die.