You swear you're a lost cause
Once full of light and kindness
But now a broken statue.
And I believe you, oh I do,
For I can see the holes all over your torn body,
But I also see the colours being set free from those very holes.
These colours, which you have mistaken for plain blood,
Are creating the wigs you so beautifully wear
On your scratched and cut back.
And they may be invisible to you
But to me they are not,
Because when I look at you I see purity and light of heaven,
And the beautiful pain from a fallen angel's scream.