Minor injuries are her self- inflicted wounds;
Bleeding real hard -- her heart.
It was a cry for attention,
Or perhaps a yearn for affection.
Does anyone hear me, she ponders.
Running in the wrong direction,
A search for a purpose begins.
But to no avail.
She asks in desolation,
Is this all life got to offer me?
I say Jesus is here.
Bleeding real hard -- her heart.
It was a cry for attention,
Or perhaps a yearn for affection.
Does anyone hear me, she ponders.
Running in the wrong direction,
A search for a purpose begins.
But to no avail.
She asks in desolation,
Is this all life got to offer me?
I say Jesus is here.
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