Sad Beautiful Tragic

Born a rebel, she preferred to be called, "unknown"

5'3 with the personality of a headstone

Her mama dukes and pops left her on the edge

She grew up faster than the time, moved a minute, sped

Her only friend was little red in her head

She seemed to be a lonely ghost in this world of dread

Mentally ill, so of course she was misunderstood

Sort of like a steel engine placed under the hood

No one could fix her when she broke, no one with her, she was solo

She thought of death, didn't wanna live no-mo

Her life was somewhat like a pit in a storm

That dug deep in her existence, becoming a norm