Day 31 December 4 2013: Nothing to be done

Wet roads with dry soles,
Empty bottle and frayed hopes,
Lost dreams with lost clothes.

New mistakes and same place,
Old feeling with a new face,
Ashamed, disgraced.

And you'll be, a small girl just waiting,

sitting and anticipating, slowly sinking hating and wasting.
And it's too late to see, so I'll scream.
That there's nothing to be done for her.

Black lungs and dry throats,
New paint with old coats,
Flooding house and you can't float.

New drug and a new man,
Pipe dream with no plans,
Warm thighs, cold hands.

And you'll go, become a young woman who knows,

the price of good blows, can score great snow, and your nose knows just what goes.
And it's too late to see, so I'll scream.
That there's nothing to be done for her.

Stop signs and green lights,
Heavy hands and fist fights,
Short days with long nights.

Hamburgers and French fries,
Beating heart with dead eyes,
He smiles, she cries.

And you'll learn, to become an object who gets turns,

then you get turned, while your stomach churns and it burns, and you'll yearn.
And it's too late to see, so I'll scream.
That there's nothing to be done for her.