She is afraid of fading into history

of being an unknown story among the classics

of forgotten churchgoers who live on their knees

She doesn't know how she's going to pay the bills

The bills that make herself something in this cruel, uneven world

She does endless numbers sat in front of a windowsill

She gets on her own knees to pray for her dreams

But they're unkempt and she is not a gambler

Her place in this world, of being special, is unlikely as touching light beams

Who is she but an unknown face among many

Someone you've bumped into only to shrug off

No one gives no one the thoughts of even a penny