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Flowers in the Attic

Flowers in the attic,
petals on the wind,
somewhere in the distance
the sunrise sings it's hymn.

A hymn of sufferings,
a hymn of pain,
of broken homes
and those whose dreams are slain.

On the dark and dreary streets,
far from the house of hopes,
there lies a starving child
sleeping all alone.

Sadness, dread
anger and strife.
What happened to our world
which was once so full of life?

Why are so many suffering?
Those with hearts of gold?
Don't they deserve to be happy?
To have some dream to hold?

Flowers in the Attic,
Petals on the Wind.
All the flowers are dying
as the weeds sway in the wind.

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