The excerpts from the song is Concrete Angel by Martina McBride.
Disclaimer: I am not Stephenie Meyer, and sadly therefore I do not own any of her characters.
Summary: Alice's life before she met Jasper, in the asylum. Alice's POV.
A statue stands in a shaded place.
An angel girl with an upturned face.
A name is written on a polished rock,
A broken heart that the world forgot
My mother had left me here. Alone. Shut up in a dark insane asylum for the rest of life, with no hope of any future at all, with wild visions rampaging my head countless times. I hadn't known lots of emotions in my life- only anger and fear from my mother, uncertain affection from her father, and fear from my sister, Cynthia. My father had been the only one to trust me at all. Somehow word had leaked out of my visions, and the whole town believed I was a demon, controlled by Satan, the devil. I felt only pain right now. Pain and isolation.
Through the wind and the rain...
She stands hard as a stone.
In a world that she can't rise above.
But her dreams... give her wings,
And she flies to a place where she's loved.
Concrete angel
Here I was. 2 years ago my life of misery had begun. A while later, I had a vision that my family burned in a fire. I cried and begged the nurses working here to call my parents, but they dismissed it and gave me shock treatments. They moved me into a more secluded, dark place .The asylum room I stayed in now was dark, filthy, with a few blankets stuffed in a corner. The patients at the asylum were never kept together, for fear that the troubled ones would start fighting. But after my family burned and died, my doctor came into my room, saying, " We need to stop this foolish whimsy of your imagination now. It was purely coincidental." He didn't say what, but I knew.
Through the wind and the rain...
She stands hard as a stone.
In a world that she can't rise above.
But her dreams... give her wings,
And she flies to a place where she's loved.
Concrete angel
An image quickly flashed through my head. I grabbed onto it, desperately, after glimpsing one of the pictures. There was a man standing in a dimly lit café. I gasped. He was more beautiful than anyone could imagine! Blond locks of hair fell casually into his eyes, and his lean, slightly muscular body was shining with gracefulness. A small voice whispered into my head that his name was Jasper Whitlock. Only later I realized there was crescent-moon scars covering his body, and that his eyes were an unsettling red. But none that mattered; somehow I knew he was my light. My only light in the darkness.