She sits in front of the mirror.
Acting like no one can hear her.
Is this how her whole life has been?
A tale of sad thoughts and of dead ends.
Well I cant stand to see this.
And everyone knows that she will be missed.
She cant go on, not like this.
She grabs a knife, makes it swift.
She cant stand up, just too weak.
The blood flow has now fully reached its peak.
Is it my fault that now she's dead?
Is it my fault that Aspen rains red?
