They were an angel with broken wings
Death would call them 'sweetheart'
They were constantly broken and burned again
But time would always restart
A flower grew for every fault
Mercilessly unpardoned
Every stumble, trip, and fall
Tended their secret garden
Their blood ran cold without the sun
Their limbs would slowly wilt
And Death could only watch as his flower's
innocent blood was spilt.
The angel had far too much hope in him
They'd given him too much heart
And as they were almost free of the nightmares
They simply fell apart
They once were an angel with broken wings
A soul unique of seven
A marble statue reaching so high
But still cannot reach heaven