Hell-Raiser
The girl was raised to be a saint
Head down and voice a whisper
But she was bold like vibrant paint
I hated her once but now I miss her
Holiness she sought beneath the ground
Her lips never made a praiseful sound
It explains why her face is no longer around.
She's not pretending to be a hell raiser
She just wants to raise her smoldering voice
Never been a starry-eyed gazer
But she can't say she ever had a choice
Death loves to give chase, but has not yet caught her
Though there's a reason our days are numbered, daughter
Even the moon and sun are prepared for slaughter
If the spirit does exist within,
She'll raise her hands to humble guilt
Trying to rid herself of endless sin
She'll untie the knots of the fated quilt
She's losing a race she never asked for
The ground is hard, her knees are sore
What next hell does this life intend to bore?
The dark days endlessly bearing,
She sets herself adrift in the dream
She trips on words of pointed swearing
The world is what she sees, not what she's seen
The light was prodded but has finally been woken
Her knees are sore but have not yet been broken
Hear the distant sound of hopeful fires stoking?
