There is not much that she knows about life
17 and young
beauty with trace
Mother and father
Split without grace.

A mother of poverty
a father of sovereignty
a daughter of catastrophe.

Split at the hips
and torn at the lips
the words she speaks no more.

She lays as the doormat
laid out to rest
under the words of her family's distress.

A mother of no concentration
a father of no communication
a daughter of her own creation

A father of obsession
organization
dedication
to nothing but a spotless house.

She stay in her bed
fear of making such mess
"Daddy don't yell."
turns to
"Daddy, don't leave."

Split from the hips
and torn at the lips
the words she speaks no more

The life she knew
with and the way she grew
alone in her own self's mind.
No me and you
No we makes 2.
there will only be
me minus you.

She carries her bags
scars on her wrists
she carries her worries
and her sorrows and woe.
She carries her bags
On the boulevard of broken dreams.

But here's her smile. (Smiles)
And here's how many people (shows paper with names)
advising her to be an actor.