(Footprints on the wet stoneprovide evidence to a young girl's waltz)
Maybe if you looked hard enough,
You'd notice your baby girl's gone.
She's been a dancin' in the rain,
Since last Tuesday.
And maybe if you listened harder,
You'd notice that she's screaming.
Someone tell that girl,
That she's going to wake the dead.
Perhaps if you paid attention,
You'd see how she pulls her sleeves,
Snuggly over her wrists,
And that your kitchen scissors are missing.
How can you not see it?
How she's been staying after school,
With a "friend."
Coming home with bloodshot eyes.
I wonder how you can't smell the smoke.
That girl's burning your picture,
And yelling at the flames.
Something about not caring?
(She's disappeared, Ma'am? Maybe if you took
a look out back. She's standing at your window.)