Lucy

Crescent moon a bone, knows that she is loved, but wants away alone, shaped by different parts, she turns her face above, thinks of her dear Da, flees the suburbs to roam, Our Lady holds a dove, winter’s night of storms, her time is of the heart, no matter what’s she's on, she doesn't fall apart, when people sing of home, in the life to come, tears tug at once shone, goes and buys a car, works at some crummy dump, his lovely little star, what's she done ?