Empress of the wind in Heaven

Your sacrilegious smile, the resemblance of the autumn leaves
And your eyes like swings, moving gently in the breeze
In your anxious manners, anonymous to the crowd
While your dimming silhouette defies weeping clouds
The shining diamond attached to your addictive skin
Like an Edgar Poe poem carved on your limbs
And Moses himself visited you in the mountain
No God, no angel, you stood there sighing

Empress of the winds, you lay naked on the grass
And the cricket sings, the rainbow is under your command
With a leap of your fingers, the rising sun starts to blast
But still your silver crown remains untouched

You take no pride from being the master thief
Your collection of hearts, all stashed in grief
And over them all, in the stratosphere of love
Rests the one that heats your stove
And it burns like wood, as the night now flows
Under the stars above you consider your foes
You see they have all rules to sail the Milky Way
While you outshine them from Troubador Café

Empress of the winds, you lay naked on the grass
And the cricket sings, the rainbow is under your command
With a leap of your fingers, the rising sun starts to blast
But still your silver crown remains untouched

You leave a trace through the boiling sand
I watch you craft sighing a long one
The sea raises a brow, spots a stranded pearl
But thunder to you is the sound of a bagatelle
And the shivers you throw down the highway of my spine
After the taste of your tipsy lips of wine
And the flowers painting your sinful face
Their fiery red suits you better than lace

Empress of the wind, you lay naked on the grass
And the cricket sings, the rainbow is under your command
With a leap of your fingers, the rising sun starts to blast
But still your silver crown remains untouched

In a ceremony of hags, your wizardry beyond limits
But your princess-like beauty, awoke jealous spirits
Overthrown as you are, you’re still above the mass
How then, would you explain, your monuments of glass
The threshold of your gate, sanctified by rain
And its golden aureole sketched in Tin Pan Alley’s pain
They all now come to see you
But you don’t belong, you’re just a painter passing through

Empress of the wind, you lay naked on the grass
And the cricket sings, the rainbow is under your command
With a leap of your fingers, the rising sun starts to blast
But still your silver crown remains untouched

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