She goes day by day,
night by night
never knowing what is right.
So many things behind closed doors,
that nobody knows but the floors.
She's tired of the fighting,
the constant drone
of a broken home.
Her tears turned dry,
but there's always reason to cry.
It's turned her hard and without hope,
it's her way to cope.
It's not good or bad,
but it's better than being sad.
Mamma cheats,
Daddy drinks,
it all links.
She doesn't know what to do,
so she just stays purple and blue.
The bruises cover her arms
all the way to her palms.
It happens every night,
so now she doesn't even put up a fight.
She just takes it,
every hit.
But she lives a "normal" life.
She puts a smile on her face,
and picks up the pace.
She goes to school,
is even considered cool.
She never once lets on,
what happens before dawn.
How she's dying inside,
and her father's like Jeckle and Hyde.
How the drink changes him,
and her Mamma bends at his every whim.
It's easy to hide,
even though the bruises aren't only on the outside.
So she goes day by day,
night by night
never knowing what is right.
So many things behind closed doors,
that nobody knows but the floors.