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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.
