Elise, for whom this sonata was written
Lies cold and buried in a crypt of her own making
But what can you say about someone
So stifled by her life that even when breathing, she was barely alive?
Elise, for you there was once admiration
Turned dark and perverse by the choices you didn’t dare make
How did it make you feel, to be who you should have, and not who you could?
For Elise, you’ve broken the world’s order
with this one choice to be who you’re not
Moss and wet raindrops on your crypt, you buried parts of yourself over so long
What finally remained was skin and bones
But what died first was the heart
