Fallen

With the red tipped, blooded rose,
Braided upon her hair,
She said she's given up,
She's faking what they see,
She's shutting their eyes with memories.

Cling on, make it hell,
Paint your face ghastly,
Nervous, stone cold,
Stop your steps,
Cough the gold,
The tinker of the bells,
Won't go, won't slow down.

With the fallen blackened wings,
She stood with much contempt,
She made the strategy,
Of make believe,
Appear before their sins,

And she's clinging on,
Making it hell,
Making it hell for those who see,
And cry out to the clouds,
No, no god's not listening,
Only her,
Her,
The fallen queen,

The fallen dainty, missy, girl,
She's stepping out from paradise,
She's making a difference,
But turned away from all eyes,
She's a bitch, yes,
A tortured whore,
She should've died for sinning,
But she's clinging on,
Making a difference,
Making it hell for all.

With the beauty retort,
The fake blue lips,
Eyes of the deceased,
She takes a toll on the path to heaven,
And stops all spirits and beings,
She cries out,
She's making a difference,
She's creating the make-believe,
No, no gods not listening,
She'll be left alone to preach.

She's misunderstood,
A tortured whore,
Who's fallen from sweet dreams,
She no longer flies,
She haunts the eyes,
Of all those who witness screams,
And she believes, she only believes,
She's making a difference,
She's making it hell,
For all those unwilling to live.