Don’t Lose

The cynics who sit and smile
were once the dreamers who loved too high,
they got their hearts broken,
fell apart and decided there’s no use trying anymore.

The lost girls who run and dream
want to be in with the cool kids.
They want to kiss the boys who smoke
fairy dust and then take them home,
steal away their pretty innocence,
play with thier hearts and dreaming things.

I sit upon the moors,
waiting for some grandeur cause,
I drink wine till I can’t see,
believing in a fantasy.

Cynical boys and little lost girls.
Let me tell you all I know;
that what’s in your head
those stories playing out,
are the best thing in this broken world.

The drugs taste like broken hearts
and blacking out kills you soul,

and those boys dressed
like James Dean,
will cause
your doe eyes
to bleed.

The Lost Girl

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.