she was a sad little thing, all broken inside.
a beautiful mess of confusion,
a world made up in her head; an illusion,
for reality pained and drained and left her wary,
such a shame that she'd spend her nights cold and dreary.

"my darling, my darling, pull your head from the water,"
"why should i, what for? it's no use, why bother?
this monster, this demon, it comes from within me -
a wicked grin and a sweet scent to lure me in
with a shovel to dig and go in and in,
pulling me into a hole, 'dig deeper,'
until it's too late to turn back."

such a shame that she'd spend her nights cold and dreary,
deceitful of those who thought they understood her, clearly.
a box, a bottle, a lock with no key;
she's shut in and sits tight, no light and no fight.

how easy is it to drown in sorrows, drown in tears?
to free the anchors and free such fears?
how easy is it to live and let live,
to love and be loved and accept such notions?
how could she when she could hardly make sense of her emotions?

there's no way, no sure way out;
no ladder to climb, no way to shout.
she drowns in her pain - unexplained, no doubt -
if only something or someone came about,
a soft voice, a faint hum, a word to draw her in,
anything to keep her from the monster within.