There she is
That girl on the bench
Alone, of course, to her preference
She wonders, she ponders, she even wishes
There she is
With a forehead too large and eyes too empty
Sad, of course, to her preference
She plans, she hopes, she even dreams
There she is
With a soul too broken and skin too white
Distanced away, of course, to her preference
She cries, she shouts, she even screams
With a body too spent and a mind too worn
There she is
Killing herself, of course, to her preference
She fights, she struggles, she even loses
With a spirit too vanished and good company too lost
There she is
Dying, of course, to her preference
There I am.
