You say you couldn’t tell
she was going through hell.
You say she never knew
what she planned to do.
You say she never cried
until she planned her suicide.
You say you couldn’t see,
that’s what you told me.
You say she was okay,
up until her dying day.
You say you’ll never know
why she felt so low.
You say you’ll never understand,
while holding her lifeless hand.