Ashy


Soul was stole,
right thru her pants.

COLD,
Ugly,
Ashy black hands.

Left funk on body life long,
to cold.

Innocence of youth,
launch to go.

Scared of the corollary to tell home,
so she sings the silent song.

Hate on, on hate
on hate, on hate.

Body dirty, to much to take.
Guilty heart, on verge of break.

Never to be told,
to no other soul.

Everyday to see the,
COLD,
UGLY,
ASHY black hands, who tore my soul right thru my pants.

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