Raging sea and mountain glory,
her eyes, they beg to tell a story
Walking through the thicker mist
a weapon is hidden by her wrist

It's not knife, nor blade or gun,
hear her heart beat like a drum
It's white and thin with lines of ink
look and think, it is a link

Future, past, where is the middle?
she is solving the dying riddle
Away she is gone, run in hiding,
has to pick with whom...