Lost Was there substance in what she said? Thinking of others she had not yet met, The baby doll is nothing but dead, Leaving cradles and hearts filled with regret, A vigilante rises her brother dear, An unloaded gun by his side, Running round town with her photo near, Avenging a loss and restoring some pride, Following the sun through the sky, Chasing the memory, A heart that whispered a lie.
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