What’s a young life that’s been checked and abused,
just naturally expected to someday evolve into?
Is it possible that most people don’t have a clue?
But then, how could they feel the fit of my shoes?
It seems probable that those who life’s been good to,
with the spring in their’ steps as they walk down the avenue,
will each live and die miles from any Life that is true,
without walking the line down hard times, blind to virtue.
Because, what’s an old girl supposed to do,
at the appearance of that elusive “moment of truth”?
When the truth doesn’t seem to at all recognize you,
and instead, fills your head and keeps lying to you.