Isabell

A crescent moon at home, she knows she is loved, but wants away alone, surrounded by indifferent stars, she turns her face to shove, against her tear stained Da’s, flees the ‘burbs to roam, Our Lady holds a dove, in winter’s night of storms, this time is of the heart, no matter what’s going on, she doesn't feel apart, when they sing of home, in the times to come, weight sings inside her core, she’s asking for a start, at some crummy Drum, his lovely little daughter, what she’s gone and done ?