Rain falls as fast as their tears.
But without the evidence ,
pointing to the red-handed criminal
no one seems to care...
My hate just  builds along with the sickening pit in my chest.
I know the inevitable  truth!  Don't They?
Can't they imagine the fear and feel the victims' pain when they can't sleep?
Do they not cry fiery tears of hate when those thoughts immerse!
Where is the justice for the lost ones-The ones still hoping to be rescued?
How could we let their hopes fall into the darkness.
Their problems do not concern me,
And yet my mind is full of theses wishes for strangers
But shouldn't all feel this way as well.
They were stolen  and now they are lost.

A baby bird had fallen out of it's nest
His broken wing pinned against his chest,
In the darkness of night
The blonde girl had no sight,
But could hear a noise under the ford beside the curb.

She got her father to investigate
He reached down into the gutter by the tailgate,
Surprising them it was a baby bird newly hatched
His left wing needing to be patched,
She loved him.

They named him Curby for where he was found
Weeks later the poor thing still weighed less than a pound,
Her father promised it would be fine
But three days later the girl came home
to find the bird had died.

Five years later the girl is thirteen
Lost without her friends  the world is mean,
Her old friends were at a different school
Life was cruel,
But then she met him.

He lets her forget about all of the pain
She gets lost in his deep brown eyes
He was the only one who didn't treat her love as a game
With him she never cries.
Three years later he is just a memory