In the four walls closed,
She's weaving her dreams,
So fragile, she seems,
Still hoping for good.
In her lonesome room,
She is shedding tears,
Does anyone care?
Still caring for all.
At the age of 17,
They're shattering her dreams,
She can't even scream,
Still, silence she sings.
In the pious-holy place,
She's been given to a lad,
By her own mom and dad,
Still holding her cry.
In the hands of potency,
She can only puppet dance,
In chains of dominance,
Still smiling so soft.
In her tattered clothes,
She's making his tie,
Hands shivering - but why?
Still standing for him.
In the middle of the night,
She's cleaning her room,
Blue bruises by the groom,
Still praying for him.
In the sunny, fresh morn,
She's cooking breakfast,
But gulping with thirst,
Still serves him on time.
In the age when she's old,
She's tired of her life,
No hope to be alive,
Now wanting to die.
In the bed of her death,
She's soon gonna sleep,
Blue ocean so deep,
Will consume her woes.
In heaven or hell,
Hope she feels free,
But it won't last long,
She'll repeat this song.
