She scratches a letter, into a wall made of stone. Maybe someday another child, won't feel as alone as she does.... It's been two years and counting. Since they put her in this place.
State of love and trust as I. Busted down the pretext. Sin still plays and preaches,. But to have an empty court, uh huh. And the signs are passin',. Grip the wheel, can't read it.