she walks down the street, the road under her feet, a notebook by her side, she feels like she died.
everytime i see this I cry. she walks into the grave yard, and takes a seat on the hill. So many gravesnear her and she can't sit still.
She took out that note she wrote and wrote and wrote. She takes out the knive, which is a stained bloody sight. She pulls up her sleave and counts the lines.1...2...3. she goes on. 10...11...12.
She says one more wont hurt,but she doesnt relize what can happen at the worst. She cuts a vain, oh what a beautiful pain.
She got found the next day, that story was in everyones heart to stay.
Since then,some more are dead. what i would do to have her here, oh somethings i do truly fear.
I wish I knew before she blew her last and only chance.
Now shes free to dance. shes free from hate, She loves the fact she doesnt have to wait.
For death came early, andnever late. That though for her, was a bad mistake.
