There’s a celluloid girl waiting for the tide
To come and cover over her picture of the bride
She made the veil herself out of shells of virgin white
Her dress, a shade of seaweed
To float her down the aisle

…

Though torn around the edge and faded at the sides
She looks to the horizon to where her lover died
She cries the tears of ages and ancient wounded pride
Then dips her little toe in to keep the cold alive

…

Now there’s a digital girl moving just so slightly
She’s staring at the ocean, so messy and untidy
What did mother see that could have kept her here
Whatever could have held her down for sixty years…