Little sisters running in
Pointing fingers in the air
Bang bang, hear that sound?
Telling 'em
How Papa got the damned.
In a world so dangerously scarred
So disgustingly mauled
Enough to send a little girl
Whispering stories of the wronged.
God, send us an angel
To untangle these wretched knots
To release us from the demented thoughts
Of the wicked
Never fought.
At least once a day
There stands a desicion if
One should keep deciding
On surviving
In a world so utterly
...
Mesmerising.
Because yes little sisters
Are daughters
Of Misters
Who cheat death
But the death
Of an innocent
Will provide a reason
To pick roses
And set them on their grave.
