Sickness chases her day and night
An assassin willing to draw his knife to her waist
And stab a pain so deep it leaves a scar.
But she shakes it off. Tis only a scar after all.
A simple goodbye casts a worry upon her so great
She fears every goodbye is the end
And that every look cast upon her is critical.
But under eyes of kindness, she shakes it off,
Wondering if the only real love she has given away
Has been re-gifted.
He is there, and he is there
Always there, And she is there
Endless topics of conversation ready to be written
Or shouted, Or whispered
Some words are better left unsaid,
Yet she screams them, unafraid.
If there is one thing she knows, it is that the light is fading fast
Over the faces of her people, and the songs they proclaim
The shadows chase them away from her
And she tries to shake it off once more.
But little she knows of real love.
For shadows cannot chase it away.