Dearest Beautiful Soul,
I notice, your arms stay close to your sides
so as not to appear too wide?
The bag you carry to trap
all of the stupid crap
that's being sold only to you
wandering, the streets right on cue
up and down and -- back again;
looking for comfort from the place it began,
only to be met with a blank stare
from the one who should care
the most.--- holding yourself; weighted down
with all the mess layed upon your shoulders, drown
your spirit of a broken heart, bleeding in tears
shread all of the years
that should have been.
If you can't hear me, I'll say it times ten;
babe, the crap you carry is not all yours
put yourself through torture,
no more; cause... You ARE the prize!
