---

She cries on her lonely chamber,
over her unmade bed.
She cries while the music sounds,
listening the weight of the past.

Their pictures, their smiles, his arms...
Responsability, the burden, her fight...

But her God does not help...
And her tears do not dry...

She cries over a rotten book
someday someone forgot.
She cries when she cooks,
there is only one for lunch.

And she danced while she could,
before her legs got broken.
Hope sleepy now, in her pocket,
while she walks over the clouds of what is nothing now...

She watches across her window, of her lonely chamber
and the sun lights her tear,
how could I make her smile?

But she still cries and my hands are tied.
There is a broken dream that I am not in...
Disillusion... of awakening...

And she cries on her lonely chamber,
over her unmade bed.
She cried while the music sounded,
listening the weight of her own past...

What's her God?
Cries her Hell?
To help her misery
let me kill your sanctity with hell…

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