The lost girl is free to run around the world,
surrounded by forgotten tears and broken dreams;
with her glitter stained bruises
and nails painted with cigarette smoke,
she walks alone, a damaged little girl
everybody knows she’s ruined to her core.
The lost girl can do what she pleases,
takes what’s given to her, looking out for love
in pools of glass shards;
dancing to the beat of a broken heart,
her eyes too dazed to make her way back home.
The lost girl is getting younger each year.
Regressing into a little child.
Needing a saviour or a saint
to get her out of deathly dreams.
The lost girl is in a broken-down car.
Driving to her utopia;
she’s about to crash.