A wayward and an orphan.
Holding hands.
On a promenade of
angels.
The kind with black around their eyes,
Tired eyes,
Lonely cries.
Weary sighs.
Crooked smiled,
Angels
The wayward and the orphan,
Who have been through hell.
Who met up on the other side,
and then became friends.
Who have both met the devil.
Have both shook his hand.
Now their surrounded by
Angels
Ones with broken hearts.
Who still hold up the fight.
The wayward and the orphan,
who don't know who they are,
but an outcast and a pity.
Disappointment and tragedy.
That's all they know.
That's all they are,
were.
A hero and a fighter.
That's what they are now.
That doesn't change things.
When your surrounded by bright winged people
Who save the day
The kind we call
Angels
A wayward and an orphan.
Surrounded by,
Angels
A wayward and an orphan.
On an avenue of hero's.
Just two
Angels ,
holding hands.
An: Carin: Yay! Lylie! Which I really ship, especially after nightfall. So It's a poem. Ugh , how do people do long AN's this is so awkward. Please review, hope you enjoyed it.
Bye!
