It's nothing to speak of
She's said this before
But until now
For her to tell you more you have never implored...
She'd tell you her hair fell gently down her back
Truth being that is not a fact...
She loves her so much
Yet she dreads her touch
For her embraces wet her hair
And the crowds always stare...
Her heart is in her hand
And still she squeezes it hard
Truth is she's the one who has rendered it marred.