Addicted

47 1 1
                                    

You observed the world in a remarkable way, you were so young,                                                             and we wish you could stay.                                                                                                                               You were charismatic, so fresh, and so bright, you were born to love, and not fight.                               Your hair towered above oh so high, your soulful voice did not lie.                                                           The stage was your playground, up there you shone. Simon and Mitch, they made you an icon.

You were only 27, you were addicted,                                                                                                           and I feel remorse for the pain that was inflicted.                                                                                             Singing was your release, and your salvation;                                                                                                 your tortured soul inspired a nation.

Then one day you met him and he lead you astray,                                                                                     we lost you somewhere along the way.                                                                                                               You were traversed into a world that wasn’t your own,                                                                              and you suddenly so felt cold and alone.                                                                                                  Unfriendly shadows seemed to surround you; abruptly your world turned a deep shade of blue.

You were only 27, you were addicted,                                                                                                           and I feel remorse for the pain that was inflicted.                                                                                             Singing was your release, and your salvation;                                                                                                 your tortured soul inspired a nation.

You loved to have fun, you quaffed down your drink,                                                                                     and all of you friends warned you to think.                                                                                                       Your attitudes towards that was surely tenacious,                                                                                   soon after that the effects were hellacious.                                                                                                        You thought it was just some harmless fun,                                                                                                      little did you know, the worst was still to come.

You were only 27, you were addicted,                                                                                                           and I feel remorse for the pain that was inflicted.                                                                                              Singing was your release, and your salvation;your tortured soul inspired a nation.

Soon you just wanted to run, to escape this abstruse existence.                                                                    You could not achieve happiness much to your persistence;                                                                 you desperately desired a modicum of joy.                                                                                                      All of this misery censured towards that one boy.                                                                                          In the end it all became too much,                                                                                                                        as she waited for a slither of life to which she could clutch.

You were only 27, you were addicted,                                                                                                                 and I feel remorse for the pain that was inflicted.                                                                                                Singing was your release, and your salvation;  your tortured soul inspired a nation.

She had a passion for life, a passion for love, now she’s were she belongs, with the angels above

 

 

RIP amy ♥

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Sep 08, 2013 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

AddictedWhere stories live. Discover now