Flying into the empty room,
She opens her eyes,
She feels the air suddenly stop rushing,
She saw pictures in her head.
Of the beam seeping politely through the four windows,
To a place where the laughter are as sweet as cherries,
And of the singing drizzle,
That turns into a shower outside.
The little pixie flutters around as she pours her sugary dust,
That reflects the moonlight on the faded crimson bed.
She hums the song of peace, a song only siren could sing.
Her silver wings are made to fly. Just like yours.
Opening a jar, she frees the sparkly fireflies inside,
Painting the room with butterflies.
She brought back the beauty of being happy,
Touch your art of life. Like a singing pixie.
She flies away through the four window
And left the empty jar,
On the crimson bed.
A reminder of her serene song.
The empty room,
Went to Neverland,
Leaving behind the singing pixie.
She sang that peace is in your wings.
The little pixie flutters around as she pours her sugary dust,
That reflects the moonlight on the faded crimson bed.
She hums the song of peace, a song only siren could sing.
Her silver wings are made to fly. Just like yours.
Opening a jar, she frees the sparkly fireflies inside,
Painting the room with butterflies.
She brought back the beauty of being happy,
Touch your art of life. Like a singing pixie.
Her silver wings are made to fly. Just like yours.
Touch your art of life. Like a singing pixie.
Her silver wings are made to fly. Just like yours.
Touch your art of life. Like a singing pixie.
The little pixie flutters around as she pours her sugary dust,
That reflects the moonlight on the faded crimson bed.
She hums the song of peace, a song only siren could sing.
Her silver wings are made to fly. Just like yours.
Opening a jar, she frees the sparkly fireflies inside,
Painting the room with butterflies.
She brought back the beauty of being happy,
Touch your art of life. Like a singing pixie.
