We judge based on what we see rather than what we know. Reality is often far more complex.
They murmur behind closed doors and windows
"Her eyes don't shine, her head's not right."
They tell each other and watch and whisper
"She'll waste away in hell she'll stay and pay for all her sins." They say
But no one knows how deep inside
the troubled world of her own resides
And no one sees how her eyes plead
When oft she stares into the reeds
Her voice like broken waves of sea
Drowning in sad melodies
The lyrics written on her arms
In painful, faded, ugly scars
Beside the lake she spends her days
Wistful memories as she fades
Reflections of her thoughts still mourning
Pain and sorrow tears adorning
What's left is not an evil thing
But grief, regret and keen longing.
For great is the pain the damned girl carries
While others watch, unknowing, wary
Judgment spurts out easily, compassion she has yet to see
Now let alone the poor girl be
To sit among the reeds and weep.
Their rumors fall now on deaf ears
As her soul breaks and disappears
Her past has swallowed her in grief
Then taken her away in peace
What was, was not an evil thing
But grief and pain and keen longing
And one thing we oft fail to see
We tend to judge too easily.