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Her hair was gold. Her eyes were brown.
 She sat on the wall not making a sound.
The children would play whole and complete.
 Their smiles did not hold evil and deceit. 

The girl was broken just like glass.
 She can't trust. She still feels the hurt,
even if time does pass.

When the monster would come she'd drift away.
 In her own little world she would run and play.
No one could touch her there. 

That world is still her own. While she is cracked and broken,
 her world is held together firmly and can not be shaken.
She will let other children into this world through the books she'll write.
 They'll have somewhere to go when they feel too weak to fight.

Even if she's broken her dreams remain. 
 She'll swim through the nightmares and fight through the pain. 
She finally realizes she does have a purpose. 
 She no longer feels worthless. 
 
 The little children who are broken will read her words and realize
they can be healed through passion and love, to their surprise. 
 Hold on my little broken children, even when it too much too bare. 
One day the other broken children will need you to be there.

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