The Diary - A.c.t

Use my grains for blending voices

Bigs among his birds is flying

All of this was quite accepted

Now their skin they were affected

Just on eleven and now she’s going on twelve

No one can see

She must be one in hundred millions

A mind so tall and torned and wreckful

What have you done with this poor girl

You made her believe that nothing’s sacred

A conscience is lost

Voices tell me I am in need

See the people in pain into bleed

For nigh a trice they never say

A knife can kill and now she missed it

Just on eleven and now she’s going on twelve

No one can see

She must be one in hundred millions

A mind so tall and torned and wreckful

What have you done with this poor girl

You made her believe that nothing’s sacred

A conscience is lost