Winding Crow

Winding crow

Bending Sorrow

Flying eachtime a little closer,

A little closer  to the window,

The inky sky, ripping open, pouring rain of blood

The tears, the hope...

Why is this little gothic angel, seeing what happens,before it does?

She is told its all in her little mind,

she honestly cant help the ache of wanting to die;

Telling the little goth, your crazy

Your what your mind tells you

You become what you hear,

All thats lost, and loved is what you hold near

Poor little Girl shes an angel

She cant help what guides her mind

Guiding her to the window,

Winding crow

Slaps into the glass, Her ice blue eyes closing

The death was coming,

The death was coming

She holds her stomach, bending, and cringing

Blood beginning to drop down her leg

Her rose touched lips,

Shading them selves blue

She grasp her self falling to the floor,

Her 2 hearts, no longer beating,

Nor the growing heart inside of her

Her heart, only told the truth...

little gothic angel, couldnt take the stress

her little babie, finding her, leaving her in this mess

She screamed before she died, hoping to be heard

... But all she could think of, was blaming it on the bird.

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