All of the broken pieces
once made a beautiful girl.
She was left on her own
in this cold, lonely world.
No Family, No father to call her own.
Never got to be daddy's little girl.
She just stayed in that one house she called home.

Across the street from a old walmart was a house.
Once stood big and tall, now black and dangerous.
But one little girl called it home.
For three years she has been there.
It gave her the comfort she needed.
That burned down house was a home for that little girl.

She made a mistake and she knew it.
She even had the home to prove it.
And the 3 graves down the road by the old church.
She shouldn't have been playing with the lighter in her room.
She shouldn't have listened to her older sister.
She shouldn't have put the lighter to the curtains.

But curiosity got the best of her.
She now had to live with it, but she knows what happens how.

At night she walked up those squeaking steps, skipping over the ones she had fell through before.
One left and two doors down is where she always slept.
Four photo frames, a mattress, and a lantern laid on the floor.
The same routine every night.
Talk to momma, talk to daddy, talk to sissy.
Say a prayer hoping they would come back.
Lay down and cry yourself to sleep.

Dream about how everything once was in this burned down house.