Books on the shelf, never read.
Pictures on the wall, clothes on the bed.
The stereo's there, but there's no C.D.
The calendar's empty, there's a library fee.
Phone is lost, curtains are drawn.
The T.V.'s dusty, her innocence is gone.
Wallpaper's peeling, her journals were hid.
In the closet is a plastic doll from when she was a kid.
Magazines are all cut up, the bed isn't made.
On her desk is an essay that got a bad grade.
Coke was spilt at the foot of the bed.
She never drew, she painted instead.
Her clock stopped at exactly six thirty-three.
She never listened, but she could always see.
Secrets were told, promises made.
Photos tell stories, but memories fade.
Some people tell lies, but some rumours are true.
The sad part - her room was the same in 1992.