Sorrow Land.
You could have said that she was torn,
But she would disagree,
She'd say it was the reign of scorn,
That would not set her free.
A door to you that's coloured, unlocked,
To her is closed and bland,
It seals her fate, it locks her in,
She's trapped in Sorrow Land.
Although she hides it in her sleeves,
Her arms are chipped and charred,
Sorrow Land inflicts white noise,
A pain that leaves her scarred.
She looks through the keyhole, banged and bruised,
An angel from heaven that fell,
Sorrow Land's shadows clutch your flesh,
And burn you with fingers from hell.
She sees the embellished life you lead,
The colour drowned in art and song,
She forgets how warm the sun's ray's are,
Sorrow Land's days are ten years long.
The door to Sorrow Land is in solitude,
It stands in a field, there is no key,
There are no locks, there are no knobs,
Only compassion can set her free.
