corrupted visions: concrete angle
Concrete Angel
The distractions, the abstraction of the illness in her attraction
inaction in the still eyes with no interaction of lifes transaction
dad was jus an alcoholics, and as they fight and frolic
she dreams of paradise, and wished her life was symbolic
but she had no life, she lived because they owned dull knifes
she was 13, and her loved mom wasnt her fathers wife
She died when she was 10, and step mom wasnt all there
classic tale of cinderella, but she didnt have long blode hair
since were on the subject, she didnt have many things
she clings on to what she owns, her back yard swing...
................................and her broken matress springs
the prizes her mama brings, when she comes down on her wings
a few apron strings worn by her mother, and a book she used to sing
thats all she will ever own, scence the forshadowing coming
the beats drumming, the grand finale is the body numbing
its something, how her life was ment to be nothing
god planned it to be lugging and it basicly sucking
she lived as long as she couled, as long as she wouled
as long as she was suposed to live, along in the no good
...................................then the end was new
or was it, basicly how every sad story end grew
from depression to death, how every stone holds
how every pebble folds, how every structure molds
from a little girl, carrying herself, everyday wearing the same dress
living the same fears, now shes just a concrete angel, formed from less
the death night, the dreded light, her dad passed out, her step mom has a knife
tired payin for this kid, who doesnt help out one bit, to make the move to take a life
to make things right, 1 slash of the wrist just wasnt enough, child strugglin for air
strugglin or life, thrown in the bathtub not to make a mess, her father doesnt care
pullin at her hair, step mom wondering if shes dead yet, still no breaths?
the beats from the heart go dim like a light, then gone, nothing left
remember this girl.......................
from depression to death, how every stone holds
how every pebble folds, how every structure molds
from a little girl, carrying herself, everyday wearing the same dress
living the same fears, now shes just a concrete angel, formed from less
