She's there, standing by the window pane.
All by herself, for she's alone.
No one by her side, to comfort her
Or to wipe her tears out.
She's there, unable to cry.
Between the deep sea and the devil,
For life was hard on her,
That even death pitied her.
She's there, running away from the reality.
For she's unable to take it any longer.
She had been strong for too long,
Fighting against the world all by herself.
She's there, like a piece of broken pottery.
For once she was a beautiful piece which rather was,
Broken into several pieces.
But she never gave up.
She's there, more beautiful than ever before.
Put back together by her own hands,
And here the critical world judges her cracks,
Missing the beauty of making herself whole again.