Through the eyes of the window

Bruises inevitably fade

But nothing will ever be the same

I am scarred by those scary nights, when he would beat her, 

Pummel her with fists of iron

But of course you do not know all those things

Who are you after all?

A stranger, that's who. 

You'll never know how I wished that everything will be ok, hushed up in the corner of the bed.

Apprehensive to death that today will be the day I'll never get to see my mom again.

On the streets people pass, they come and go, on and on...

And they stop and listen to those strange sounds.

"What could this be?" they ask themselves. 

Then they look into the window but they never see, 

They can never see what is going on inside even when the view is clear, 

clear as a mirror reflection, clear as the morning sky.

Only the small window knows, observant of what the truth will always be.