Well she writes letters, for the people who,

Those who canít connect and get through


He woke up from a terrible dream

It was a nightmare, a dying scene

But it was no dream, it was reality.


No one to go to, no one to trust

Sleeping in the street, it was a must

Waiting for his mother, but she had passed

Going with she who wrote letters of lust


He had no one left

Except his dad in the South-West

They went to look for him

But he had run, away.


The longer they looked, the more did they find

Two big brothers, who weíre really kind

Sleeping with them, in between

So she could leave him, didnít wanna be seen


She wrote him, like she used to do

To wish him the best, connect and get through

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