Broken

In search of mirth, she tasted dirt

Let it be, O let it be, it was only mud and dirt; she had to escape from that filthy hut 

Run, run, run – the chase made her legs burn

Tattered clothes and a shattered spirit made her stomach churn

Gasping, sometimes screaming; she forced herself to rush 

Rush, rush, rush, she had to get away from that circus 

The wind became her friend and the moon was her guide

She needed nothing more, for she had become her own ride

Enough, enough, she has had enough

There was no shame anymore, come easy or come rough