They call her Blossom. They call her winterstorm. They call her blade sharp. They call her soft, and silky. Like a rock, to the ground, she falls hard, harder then them all. Like a colourful butterfly, she flies high, higher then them all. They call her winterstorm. When someone's hurting, she will be the one, crying the most. When someone's happy, she will be the one, dancing the wildest dance. She'll be the one dancing. She'll be the one dancing. She'll be the one dancing the wildest dance. She'll be the one dancing. Be the one dancing. Be the one dancing the wildest dance. They call her Blossom. They call her winterstorm. They call her blade sharp. They call her soft, and silky.