Standing alone amongst ruins of rubble
Waits a little angel with eyes expressing fear.
She wears a dress of shining so light and clear
And in her palm she holds her teddy so tight;
Whilst scarlet skies turn black to herald trouble.
Flames fly high over her raven crown without care;
Scorching grim ground beneath her feet,
But this is no angel that any army can defeat.
She'll break bullets with breath of a terrified sound
And she'll tame those who torment with her stare.
Standing alone amongst wreckage of war;
Sings a little angel with hands howling pain.
She walks in boots of mourning so brash and vain
And in her gaze she wields her hate so harsh;
Whilst grey graves turn red to blind disaster.
Explosions erupt low under her toes pale by pity;
Burning stagnant skin revealing her mystery,
But this is no angel that anarchy will have victory.
She'll crack courage with cries of a mortified sin
And she'll humble those who hurt with her ferocity.
Standing alone amongst concrete of carnage,
Haunts a little angel with bones bonding fast.
She talks by riddles of warning so primal and aghast
And in her mind she locks her despair so dismal;
Whilst green grasses turn white to subdue rage.
Terror travels far beside her life; horrid in hell
Damning atrophied ambience inside her spirit,
But this is no angel that anger can ever visit.
She'll taunt time with tears of a petrified silence
And she'll doom those who despair with her yell.