Soft rythmic ryhmes that soothe the soul, quiet the cries that disturb the mind.

Sing the song of the harmonic bells, hear the yells of the demonic hells.

Soft rythmic ryhmes now old and worn, still toll the soithing notes of time.

Sing high! Oh silver bells.

Die low. Oh great bells.

Hear the cries of the past, until death finally flies away with the dear bells.

See the crismon hues as the bells breath their first and last peals of sorrows, and joy.

[I had helped my little sister write this.]