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She's laughing and playing the games of a child.
Golden hair in the breeze, a sweet little smile.
This is the girl I remember, the games that were played.
A good little girl that would never say no
to those with the toys she dreamed of having.
She wanted the doll she could hold in her arms.
So she played and she smiled for the camera to see.
What a wonderful life those pictures would show
someday when she wondered what her life had been like.
The pictures are there now for people to see.
Memories lying in a pile tied with a string.
She's laughing and playing the games of a child.
Golden hair in the breeze, a sweet little smile.
This is the girl I remember, the games that were played.
But now when I look I see that there's more.
Is it pain that I see beneath those bright little eyes?
What is this fear behind her sweet young smile?
Why is she running? What does she know?
Where are the pictures that were never taken?
Photos and images hidden from the world.
Games played in the darkness of the night.
From a distance where nothing could be felt.
She's laughing and playing the games of a child.
Golden hair in the breeze, a sweet little smile.
This is the girl I remember, the games that were played.
How did she learn to hide it so well?
Buried so far in the depth of her soul.
Away from the camera, away from her mind.
Those are the pictures that still can't be seen.
They're not in an album set out on display.
They're fragments and pieces that fly through the mind.
They come with a smell or a word or a touch.
And they challenge the memories that are held so dear.
Where is this child? The one with the smile?
The one with the doll? The one with the eyes?
Why can't she tell me the things that she saw?
When the camera was off in the dark of the night.
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