Pain Struck

The winter hours have come, the pain is no more. My father's going frantic, searching door to door. The angel he once had, he can't see to find. With my bottled-up emotions, I'll run away to hide. The farther away I go, the more my pain will cease. My adrenaline is flowing, my heartbeat has increased. The air is getting thick, the light is getting dim.' My father is getting worried, the future's looking grim. There's blood upon the snow, the cut is really deep. I can't keep on walking, all my body wants is sleep. There's tears upon my casket, and a prayer upon my soul. "Lord, if it wasn't for her mother, she would have never lost control."