She's walking down the railroad tracks,
Kicking her feet in the snow.
The sun is starting to come out,
And she's slowly melting away.
By the time you get to her, she's gone.
Nothing but cold water in the ground.
She is washed off the tracks,
And becomes a distant memory.
The new snow comes,
But isn't able to stick.
She left your world wet,
And happiness never finds you again.
When you find something you love, it's not about how good you are at it, it's about how much you enjoy it
The sun is starting to come out and she's slowly melting away.
A Word from the Writer
I have rewrote the last six lines a million and one times and it never sounds right. It never goes with the awesomeness of the first half. I'll rewrite it probably a million more times, don't worry.