Her Eyes...

If someone looked into her eyes,
I wonder what they\'d see.
A girl who\'s body\'s bruised and broken?
A girl who looks like me?

Or would they find a pretty child,
With scars upon her wrists.
Red and bloody, Deep and lovely,
She will not be missed.

This child that\'s thirteen years of age,
Does not want to die.
But what\'s the point in living,
If all you ever do is cry?

Maybe if somebody held her,
When she felt alone.
Then she wouldn\'t sit for hours,
Wishing someone\'d phone.

Smile at this girl, hold her hand.
Show her that you care.
Tell her that you\'ll never leave her,
You\'ll always be there...

If someone looked into her soul,
I wonder what they\'d see.
A misfit teen with blackened cheeks,
A girl that looks like me?

Or would they find a lonely kid,
With beautiful, blue eyes.
Who cannot escape this world,
No matter what she tries?

Suffocation, mutilation, jumping from a roof?
Asphixiation, from plastic bags and, on her wrists there\'s proof.

Cuts of crimson, scrapes of pink, scars of velvet shine.
Nicks and knacks and dark, green bruises. Oh yes, these wrists are mine.

Maybe if sombody loved her,
Kissed her when she cried.
Then this child of thirteen years,
Would now still be alive...

Enya-;
(c) -copyright october 11/05