Click Here for My SoundCloud Recording of the Song (I am NOT a singer lol)
“It was only Irita,” Phoenix uttered in the space between her and the distance into which she had begun to stare.
“Hmm?” asked Lilly, looking over to the curious girl.
Phoenix began to sing:
“It was only Irita
her hair like a nest
crawling out of the forest
with whimsical jest.
The butterflies followed
procession at best
coming out of the hollows
and onto the quest.
It was only Irita
her eyes like a well
only useful when swelling
with waters, tres belle.
The bumblebees followed
with stories to tell
coming out of the florets
and into the dell.
It was only Irita who bothered to cry,
on a mission of madness her gladness was nigh.”
“You sing so beautifully, Phoenix! I never knew that you could sing. I play piano rather well, I would love to play for you while you sing sometime.”
“I would very much like that!” said Phoenix excitedly.
“Is that a new song? I can’t say that I have ever heard it sung before.” Lilly asked, quite intrigued by the sudden recital.
“Mhm, yes! I wrote it over the summer.”
“You wrote it yourself? That was delightful! I didn’t know that you spoke any of the exotic tongues. Who is Irita?”
“Well I woke up from a dream about a lovely woman named Irita. She was the only one crying, but it was beautiful. She was not necessarily sad for any reason, but was not afraid to cry nevertheless. I thought it was the most beautiful thing, and so I wrote a poem about her. Well, at first it was a poem, and then I decided to sing it. I’d like to think that she would be my friend. Hmm, if anyone!” Phoenix laughed aloud.
“Oh, I’m sure that she would have been, Phoenix. And I think that she would have made a good friend at that.”
“Hmm,” laughed the girl again. “Yes. I think so too. Irita. What a pretty name, don’t you think?”
“I do!” said Lilly reassuringly. “Where do you suppose your mind came up with that?”
“I don’t think it did,” she said. “I think that Irita named herself before coming into my dream. But it is the madness of her crying and her embracement of her very pain that brings about her inevitable gladness. So, should ever I fly alone in the sky I will embrace the madness of my tears, and I will cry, and I will extinguish the fires of the world so that I may find my gladness hidden somewhere within it.”
“How lucky you are then,” stated Lilly.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you are Sunshine, and if as you say your tears are rain, then how beautiful it must be when you cry.”
“Hmm. Rainbow sorrows. I quite like that.”