Sweet innocent church girl,
wearing her hair in pony tails with red ribbons.
Tiny little white and pink summer dresses.
Butterfly kisses on her daddies cheeck.
Dimples that take your breath away.
That girl died yesterday.
That girl died yesterday.
Cut her pony tails off,
and ran away.
She no longer wants to be the sweet
girl next door.
No one understands her,
and she can't explain.
Tired of people looking through her,
but not looking at her.
An ocean of sadness,
flood walls of tears.
She's tired of life
and tired of living it.
She's lost.
A thosand miles from home,
still going in the wrong direction
on a one way road to no where.
Trying to disapear,
trying to be something,
someone.
Piles of rubble remains.
Years of hurt and pain linger.
The tears don't fall anymore.
She looks away,
looks down,
looks anywhere
but here.
She is not who they think she is.
Wearing a maske of innocence,
behind the bruises and sorrow marks.
She is a master of disquise.
She is deeper than they think,
filled with things they don't know,
will never know.
She's that sweet innocent church girl,
wearing her hair in pony tales with red ribbons.
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