Who she could have been is who she was
Going back to trace the remnants of her former self
but you can't leave footprints on concrete
Permanent alteration

She can't imagine future
The past is too harsh to mention
The words stick in the back of her throat

Obscuration of triumphs by all the tragedies that reign
A sullen disposition ingrained in her entire being
Looking at the world through jade-coloured glasses
She's too young to be this cynic

You can see the sadness in the brown of her irises
A kind of sadness that strikes a chord