in once familiar streets.
She's asking the same questions over and over again.
She talks about the dead, and grim reality...
Everything doesn't seem the same.
I'm told it's an increasingly common disease,
an all consuming nightmare.
Now i'm somehow fighting to give her back some dignity
because there are those who don't seem to care.
She wakes up every day
in a living death.
I wish i could take some of the pain and confusion away
and give her back a little breath.
She didn't recognise me...
She couldn't remember...
She couldn't recall who she'd seen or where she'd been...
She was lost
and anger and misery were the only riposte.
See, she'd been betrayed by the government,
by convenient bureaucratic lies
and it stole the shine from her once beautiful, vivacious eyes.
Now i'm fighting for her memory...
I'm fighting with those who have the power to transform or ruin lives.
She deserved her identity,
but was devoid of ability,
Blind to convenient bureaucratic lies,
but she's a shadow of the woman that she used to be
and that's the grim reality...
Gone is the beauty...
Gone is the history,
and time is something that she can't rewind;
so she screams out in horrific anguish at the private hell
behind the closed doors of her crippled mind.
She had been betrayed by the government,
by convenient pathetic lies,
and it condemned her to a seemingly never ending demise.
She wakes up angry every day,
fighting for her breath.
I wish i could take all the pain and confusion away
and save her from a living death.