Blonde hair, blue eyes

Hot girl, who cries

Cries for her dad, cries for her life

Making a moment out of each struggle

She tries to be happy, and usually succeeds

Sometimes she just needs to pull out those weeds

So she comes to me, her diary

And tells me all that's wrong

I quietly listen, not saying a word

I know that my words could cut like a sword

So I look at her, and she looks at me

Knowing I won't talk

My best friend