• Oh if her eyes could tell a story!
    Then we'd all weep her name.
    If the cigar burns could speak,
    they'd tell you.
    If her bruises faded,
    she'd be happy.
    If her lips parted,
    Eyes opened,
    It'd be too late.
    But if she ever spoke,
    then she'd tell you what whispers in her ear.
    The whispers...
    Of the secrets of death,
    Heaven and hell,
    and all in between,
    The story of this small girl who never was,
    now she's a concrete angel with a promise...
    a promise of redemption before the almighty,
    at the gates of golden tears.