Why do you think she covers her arms with a baggy sweater,
Or lays her head down with her arms wrapped around her,
Truth is her arms are bloody and bruised,
By her own self abuse,
And even though that's enough,
Her mother likes to keep her up,
With men that come and never stay,
This is the life she has today,
Possibly her life could never be worse,
Yet this is where I tell you first,
Her dad was a drunk who took her in the night,
To a place out of sight,
Her innocence was gone in a flash,
Not even her therapist could help her with that,
So finally may I end this tragic story,
Or should I go on with her mourning,
Because when she grew up she married a man,
Who all thought was handsome and good with his hands,
Something they didn't know is that he used those to control,
The way she moved her neck,
Every night when he was done,
She would watch the rise of the sun,
The end of her story has still not come,
But i know she is strong for what's been done,
All we do is wish her luck,
Because we can't erase the damage that's been done...
