Nightingale -

Nightingale

A celebration of knives, one can only dream, what’s a child to do,

how can she be?

Clean up your act the clock is ticking, tick tick tick!!!

A drink for the pleasure, a night filled with lust, a man and a women to young

to trust.

There’s a fire, then a shock, through her skin she feels unlocked.

Hit the panic switch, an acid taste, covered with hate physically ill,

every thought enhanced.

The days go by, she’s terrified, a man she loved, all hope is gone.

Now paying the price, denied advice, drowning in her grief, blinded by desires.

Staring at the window, waiting for the symbol, precious little life,

down the drain!

A celebration a knives, a celebration of knives.

What’s a child to do, what’s a child to do!

Feeling so faint, hit the panic switch, an acid taste, covered with hate

physically ill, every thought enhances the aches.

The days go by, she’s terrified, a man she loved, all hope is gone.

Now paying the price, denied advice, drowning in her grief, blinded by desires.

A bump for the stress and a shot full of pain, can’t deal with the pressure,

not ready to change, a candle lit ceremony, a choir in harmony, hallelujah,

a child is born!

She asks herself, when’s the next time I get to hold, my lovely nightingale?!