Where is hope?
Does it come in little sugary packages?
Does it come in a bunch of roses?
Fresh and red one day, then dead and brown the other?
Where is it? I sometimes torture myself
With such a pathetic question.
How? Where? What?
I could die, just asking for the answer.
Where is the source of this thing
The people who are happy, wherever they are
Called hope?
Add a less to the end. Now we're getting somewhere.
I know this much:
I was born in a city
Where a vision of Mother Mary was named from:
Fatima, in the Leiria district of Portugal.
I lost my family when I was so young
During the Great War.
I didn't know I lost them until
I met my father, my adopter,
Ricardo. He tames demons.
For sport? For pleasure?
For purpose?
I will never know.
I love singing.
You see, music can move mountains.
It can make angels sigh.
It can make women smile
And make grown men cry.
And it can call astral lines.
Like I do.
There are so many people
Whose intentions are anything but pure.
I believe they have no hope.
But yet, I don't.
So, the question again:
Do people who have
These dirty, filthy, abhorring intentions
Have any hope at all?
More hope than I do?
And in my visions,
I see this girl,
This beautiful friend,
Who lays a hand on my shoulder.
She is dresses in blue and white and gold,
A pendant seal rings around her neck,
A gun in one hand, and a Bible in the other,
And she says, to me,
You will shine like a star.
You will never fade away.
That little ounce of hope left in you
Will still be there.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please!
And so, because of her,
And her right-hand demon child
That shows compassion unlike any other,
It comes back.
They are the answer.
I don't care if my parents were killed;
If they were in heaven, their smiles
Would stretch from one side of the Atlantic
To the other!
I am young. I am happy. I am Asmaria Hendrick.
And I have hope.
Does it come in little sugary packages?
Does it come in a bunch of roses?
Fresh and red one day, then dead and brown the other?
Where is it? I sometimes torture myself
With such a pathetic question.
How? Where? What?
I could die, just asking for the answer.
Where is the source of this thing
The people who are happy, wherever they are
Called hope?
Add a less to the end. Now we're getting somewhere.
I know this much:
I was born in a city
Where a vision of Mother Mary was named from:
Fatima, in the Leiria district of Portugal.
I lost my family when I was so young
During the Great War.
I didn't know I lost them until
I met my father, my adopter,
Ricardo. He tames demons.
For sport? For pleasure?
For purpose?
I will never know.
I love singing.
You see, music can move mountains.
It can make angels sigh.
It can make women smile
And make grown men cry.
And it can call astral lines.
Like I do.
There are so many people
Whose intentions are anything but pure.
I believe they have no hope.
But yet, I don't.
So, the question again:
Do people who have
These dirty, filthy, abhorring intentions
Have any hope at all?
More hope than I do?
And in my visions,
I see this girl,
This beautiful friend,
Who lays a hand on my shoulder.
She is dresses in blue and white and gold,
A pendant seal rings around her neck,
A gun in one hand, and a Bible in the other,
And she says, to me,
You will shine like a star.
You will never fade away.
That little ounce of hope left in you
Will still be there.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please! I pray. Never fade away.
Please!
And so, because of her,
And her right-hand demon child
That shows compassion unlike any other,
It comes back.
They are the answer.
I don't care if my parents were killed;
If they were in heaven, their smiles
Would stretch from one side of the Atlantic
To the other!
I am young. I am happy. I am Asmaria Hendrick.
And I have hope.