Lonely girl swings on her swing,
By her garden of roses,
Dead and crusted,
But still she loves them,
Her soul cries for delivernce,
But her questions where never answered,
Alone she swings back and forth,
Wating for nothing,
Black rose falls at her bare feet,
Slowly reaching for it,
She falls,
As her face hits the floor,
Grasping the rose,
As it bleeds in her hand,
It withers away,
Falling to the earth,
Alone she fades away,
Faded spirt swings on her swing,
By her garden of roses,
Dead and crusted,
Like her soul. |
