She sat in the attic,
Playing with dolls made of plastic
Pretending, they were real,
Moms bruised up,
Dads drunk from his glass cup
And Pain, is all she can feel,
Her doll house is a perfect place
Doll mom doesn't cry, no bruises on her plastic face,
And doll dad doesn't hit plastic mother
Plastic baby never cries,
Fake mom sings lullabys
And the little girl is loved like no other,
There are no holes in the walls
The doll mom, doesn't lie about falls
And plastic dad is always sober,
But now dark is here
Bed time is near
And play time sadly, is over

The ocean looks safer
than your eyes
Though we both know
which I would rather drown in.

Two shooting stars.
Two wishes.
Two chances.

I saw two shooting stars tonight.
First, as usual, I wished for you,
for me, for us to become true.

Then, I wished for me to stop
wishing for the impossible--
that I'd stop wishing for you.