take a sad song

A m a l i a She comes back again and again, but he is never there. Today there is a woman, unfamiliar and tall. She stands uncertainly in front of the inn, some sort of sentinel, a seeker, though of what? Amalia is far too tired to guess, her brain as soft as over-fermented dough. She's sick, she knows that now, though sometimes she forgets. She's forgotten how she got here. She's forgotten where he (Deimos? Finn? Adam? Rory?) went. The woman is steady, upright, bright. It is a poor time indeed for her to be in the Grounds, though Amalia cannot put her finger exactly on why. She's far too thirsty- maybe if she drank something it would wash the cobwebs from her mind? "Do you have any water?" Amalia wonders, to the woman and to the world which fees so parched and dry. She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine