She had bruises running up the back of her knees
They were from the beggars and losers clawing at her lying in the streets
She wore a corset to keep from falling apart
She used butter on her hands because her skin was made of bark
But she was soft
Soft spoken and kind
She was young, though her face was lined
She navigated her way around the mess of broken souls
She walked fast as if walking on hot coals
When she made it to the march she changed into black
The protestors proceeded avoiding every crack
In the road rode the army
On horses made of steel
They were called to stumble over those who were denied a last meal
On a dark street those dressed in black
Met the army, their horses shoes met pavement with a smack
She slid to the back of the line because she wasn't bullet proof
A sign slapped the side of her face, on it was written the truth
Though she was surrounded by tall men with top hats on their heads
For whatever reason with the first shot she lay dead