| Everyone knew she was a special young girl
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| From her neighbors to her teachers
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| Some labeled her a prodigy, others called her a genius
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| It was amazing the way she could play the violin
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| It made it hard for people to believe that she only ten
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| But behind every brilliant mind there lies a monster
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| This one just so happened to be her father
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| See daddy was sick, he’d get a rush by playin touchy touch
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| And tellin her to keep it hush
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| It was his seceret way of loving that he needed someone he could trust
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| Fucked her head up, sayin if Momma was alive she’d be so proud of us So she’d hide the desire to die
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| But if you paid close attention you could see the sorrow in her eyes
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| Walking around in the only real hell
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| No one would ever think she’d have such a story to tell
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| Afraid to go home, afraid to talk, afraid of cryin
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| She was too young to even know why
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| And everyday she’d go to the river with a message in a bottle sayin
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| 'Please, God help me I don’t wanna live to see tommarow'
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| Each day she’d scrounge for a tiny shread of hope |
| Just to wish the bottle would stay afloat
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| But every single solitary day, the bottle seems to sink
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| I don’t know why but the bottle always sinks
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| She never sees it happen, but the bottle always sinks
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| Now only the bottom of the river knows what she really thinks
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| She made that violin sing with so much pain
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| You could almost hear her scream through the strange vibrations
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| What was once sweet and innocent
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| Is now riding with the phsychotic father
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| Chose to probe the flowers of the pure and sacred
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| Her instrument was a rolly tongue
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| To express the infinite abuse in it’s depths
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| At night the footsteps crept to her door and she’d begin to shake and weap
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| And with tears rolling down her cheeks she’s pretend she was asleep
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| When the nightmare was over, and the sun dawn is light
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| She’d retreat to the same place she always did
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| Rip a page from her diary, and write with all her might
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| Then send it off into the current, determined to find a way to live
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| Being a victim of her daddy’s hands for so long
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| She lost the will to move on Sick of picking up her violin to hide from what’s wrong |
| Exausted, but stayin strong
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| She tried to play the bright side, but couldn’t bring herself to make
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| nothing but sad songs
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| Sick of that sick feeling that stays in her stomach
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| Sick of waiting for a rescue by someone who found one of her bottles
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| Sick of being daddy’s little seceret
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| She got up at the crack of day and smashed her violin into pieces
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| Then proceeded to walk towards the river with a plan
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| Only this time the diarhea bottle was in her hand
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| Just walk with herself, away from the hell
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| Not no one at the river bottom liein in all the cries for help
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| It was weeks before they found her dead body
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| Some fisherman reeled it from the water
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| like something from a detective novel
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| Diagonosis: suicide, stemed from desperation
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| Was near where she drowned they found about 500 messages in sunken bottles |