Welcome to the wonderland
where everything is broke.
You spew out words like a smokestack
just to swallow them and choke.
It'd seem this was her playground,
rusty swings beneath the vines.
And every day she plays alone,
but really, that's just fine.
Little girl named Alice,
befriended one and all.
She'd lay on her back and make daisy chains,
watch the sunlight fall.
She talked to all the animals,
the flowers sang and danced.
She loved the wind, the air, the earth,
visited when she got the chance.
One day, winter fell fast down,
the animals hid beneath the ground.
All the flowers wilted fast,
and Alice had no friends around.
Smokestack words are smothering
they filled up her lungs, her throat.
She smiled and she tried to laugh
but on the sidewalk she wrote:
The dandelions all died one day,
the fluff flew through the air.
My friends, they all abandoned me
and left me with my hollow stare.
Hearts are just lovely things to break
they shatter just like glass.
And glass you rub along your wrist
to make the hard times pass.
If the daisies and the dandelions,
the rabbits and the toads,
if they all come back here someday,
tell them I left down the other road.
It's funny how dark the world can be
when you're writing chalk and concrete words.
And the dust is ruined 'neath my tears,
so I'm scared they'll go unheard"
Little Miss Alice walked away,
she walked down the second road.
All her friends came back just once,
all, including the toad.
They mourned the death of a pretty girl,
the one who played their games.
They said "tsk tsk, poor Alice
it really is a shame."
I have to say, I saw her there.
She was sitting on her knees.
She wrote in chalk and cold hard tears
beneath the shady trees.
Little girls tie ribbons red
around their pretty throats.
Poor little Alice lost her away
and signed Sincerely on her note.
I feel too late, the deed's been done,
I'm just the rabbit passing by.
I'm late, I'm late, to a too-soon funeral...
I fear I don't have time to cry.
