At night she sits and wonders,
What can be so true.
Unless it's all a blunder,
This life can't pull her threw.
She cuts her wrists so often,
It becomes something serious,
When shes lying in that coffin,
So limp and dead with sadness.
Will anyone think back,
And remember that girl of madness?
Or will they just forget her,
In the cold lifeless room of weariness.
 
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