She's walking down

a deserted road,

long since forgotten

by anyone who'd care

about a sad and damaged girl

with a suitcase in her hand

And the devil on her heels

wearing the angel's halo.

The sun brands her

as she walks on,

with tired feet

and a tired mind

to a future no better

than the one she'd left,

and a horizon as promising

as a room full of straw

and a night to turn it to gold.

A prison cell pursues her

disguised as a relative

but they won't see her

when they pass,

because lost souls

look just like us.