Untitled 2
Such a lovely young lady
Crying aloud in her cold chamber
Shedding tears from those
Who are destined not to hear
Never will they notice
Those shouts of pain
Burried in the deapths of her heart
Just aching for release
Into an insensitive world
Lead by the one
Who should care the most
But comforts her the least
In an abyss of superficiality
Beaten by the hand of riteousness
Though intentions mean nothing
When a young darling cries
With not a soul to wipe the tears
Except the one who made her cry
None have the time
To ask her if she's fine
They all just pass her by
Leave her there to cry
So that none are around
Except the one who made her cry
Chris Kirby
6/7/01
12:06 AM
