Through my window pane, I see a girl.
She roams inside her room, her violet dress is unlike any other.
It doesn't care about the world or the eyes that gaze upon.
And her hair-bun tells you to stay away,
For no one should meddle with her.
The cigarette between her fingers cherishes to be embraced,
It travels up to the air to brag about how it was touched.
She looks down at the ashes, perhaps they remind her of some tragedy.
Her face tries to tell her story but her eyes know,
No one bears the strength to hear it.
I gaze at the hand one more time for it holds her glasses
She doesn't intend to wear them,
I know what she wants to say
"I don't need these to see clearly,
I know how dirty this world is."
Doesn't she know that I am here? Maybe someone who wants better for her!
It wasn't that hard to see her, read her.
But when she closes the window, screams are heard.
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