She walks the city streets at night
her destiny is plain...
The money that she makes transforms
into poison for her veins.
She's like the rose that wilts in time
to the past her memory strays...
So she has another sip of wine
to take the pain away.
She is the child that walks the streets
and no one takes the blame...
Just like the rose that's so unique
whose thorns will bring you pain.
She is the rose that no one wants
and is simply thrown away...
Discarded on the city streets
becoming evils prey.
She's like the rose that none can see
but she lives there every day...
and as she meets her destiny
her petals wilt away...
"Poor Boy" ©2004 email@example.com All rights reserved.
Gary Reynolds (AKA) dr_tigger
September 07, 2004