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White HousesThis perfect street filled with perfect white houses and picket fences,are not as perfect as they seem, on the outside.Take a look through this door,a young girl sits in the corner of her room,a stuffed rabbit with his eyes missing hanging form her hand,she hears shouting and curls up further,her parents are fighting again.And what about this house?A young boy crying on his bed,He can tell no one why,but the posters on his wall know all about the boys,The boys at school who hit and pick on him.A woman cowers in the corner,the man in front of her is no longer the man she remembers,he brings his fist down on her face,and she bites her tongue not to cry out,She refuses to give him the satisfaction,so she sits and waits for the worst of it to come,What did she do to deserve this?This perfect street filled with perfect white houses and picket fences,are not as perfect as they seem, on the outside.
Crimson RainYou always tried to help
.Maybe if I hadn't been so stubborn and pig-headed I would've seen it.I would've listened.I never would've gone to that Party.Maybe, if I had only I had listened as you said you didn't think it was a good ideaYou'd still be here.Maybe just maybe I could've stopped myself in time to save you.But I didn't,And all I have now is empty bottles and wasted memories for company,You're no longer here to laugh and tell me I worked to hard,I wish I had only listened,Instead I went to that party,I got drunkAnd when I came home,You told me I should go to bed,But I didn't believe you had my best intentions at heart,The mind of a drunk is never clear,I thought you wanted me out of the way so you could go out with some other guy,If only I had listened.Maybe. Just maybe I wouldn't have hit you,Maybe I would've stopped when you cried out to me,Instead I kept going,My hands, so big in comparison to your dainty little neck, squeezing, getting tight