What's Real and True

Feet planted in tattered debris.
We aim to end her misery.
Biting bullets for what was good.
She thought she was misunderstood.

She painted a worse off painting.
But it only sped her tainting.
We stood with her until the day it reckons.
As she sank low to drink the remaining seconds.

And her painting was never the same.
We knew her story and her game.
She has the power to be happy once more.
All she really had to do was walk out the door.

But she took a chance to set things straight.
Cracked the surface at the strike of eight.
She despised all the ashes she had to breathe.
As we set her on the blessed path of reprieve.

Yet don't we all walk on wounds?
Can you remember those afternoons?
We just hold on to what remains of what we think is lost.
Even if those just happen to have unconventional cost.

In the records we unbind.
We were out of our mind.
Against odds and never questioning why or how.
We stand close and we sing together now.