

In the Cities of EmberDans les cités de Braise Il y a des roses cramoisies Qui miroitent sous le soleil Leurs pétales éparpillement le feu dans la rue Comme les fleuves de sang, courantIn the Cities of Ember
In the cities of Ember There are crimson roses That shimmer beneath the sun Their petals scattering fire down the lane Like rivers of blood as they run


The Lady of ShalottHer figure starved, her branches few Her fingers clutching shards of blue The apple sapling claws the sky As wind gusts blow and snowflakes fly And thinks to the Lady of ShalottThe Lady of Shalott
The Lady in her island prison Sits before her mirror vision Weaving webs with silken dreams Wishing threads and dreaming seams The Lady of Shalott
Encloaked in her deadened husk Ensnared in the bitter frost No brittler is her wooden tower Than the shrouded magic bower That traps the Lady of Shalott
She can no more stretch than the Lady can see The world
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