You"re freaky wrong: no, she can"t make predictions,
Can"t see the future, can"t redeem your sins,
Can"t stop the Death and can"t resolve your frictions...
Can"t even free her flesh from candent pins.
She knows you"re thirsty and you"re always craving,
She"s often scared to fall asleep at night,
Because there"s no asylum from your raving,
No prayer to retrieve the peace inside,
No chance, no hope to stop disintegrating, 
To hide from visions, build herself from crumbs... 
She suffers pain behind the snow-white grating
And keeps on waiting till next winter comes...
It doesn"t matter though. She wants to bring no sorrow
And, with the stubbornness she can"t explain,
Just faces destiny... but right tomorrow
She"ll hurt you back to make her fury drained.