Theres a splinter on her head,
Constantly stings by the minute;
Forged into her forehead,
pain wrapped around in it.
But who do you know?
That would stay for that long?
While the pain in her heart
Sings the same old songs.
The sight of her frown,
I find my heart being torn,
Into small pieces,
As she struggles to carry on.
Keeping myself aboard,
myself is already in this.
Humming her old songs,
A shoulder til its finished.
Now that splinter on her head,
Loosening up by the minute;
Keeps her in touch with the world,
And every thing else in it.
