How many dying must there be? So many untold memories Who really cares, so many stares People fade away everyday
Empty bottles tell sad stories Filthy photos fumbled through Grubby fingers buy a few Sick finds for the creep
I can almost hear you breathing Are you really out there crying? I can almost feel you dying Are you . . . Dead?
Parking lots of trash and treasures Bags and piles of sinful pleasures Discarded frightful secrets Jaded eyes dig so deep
How many voices, How many children, How many choices, How many lies, How many deaths, How many victims, How many addictions, How many loved ones, How many lost ones, How many searching, How many barely holding on . . . .?
Did she find the answer? Does anybody know her? Does anybody hold her? Does anybody love her?
We keep walking over corpses Retiring our own feeble voices Disillusioned in her volition We can see the end