Dark clothed children with faces of pure innocence
standing in a silence so deafening
shadowing the flowering fields.
Domesday dust stretched over the august day.
Restless queens twist behind shut rooms.
they changed the past but thte future is no theirs.
How quickly the sorrorw gathers the children from the grave
How quickly the depression reaches out a strokes the vulnerables cheeks.
it takes thier hands and greets them to thier new life of missery and skitsofrenic behaviour.
but year after year , they'll do it all again .
i tried to help them , i did , i did but i just blew away
as i am only some ashes blowing in the wind
as i am only someones memory dancing in and out of everyones head .
as i am nothing but a thought of a person who was not afraid to live her life freely.
