Socks that Don't Match

Annabelle trips down the street
In a dress that don't fit her so neat
Her feet and her pulse keep continuous beat
She's running away

Running away from the too-thin walls,
Through which she can hear her parents brawls
That echo throughout her mind's crooked halls
She's running away

With her socks that don't match
And her dress made of thatch
And her eyes: shiny from crying
And her head full of visions
Of how this decision
Will go
When she's lying low.

Annabelle who lived in the garden
Whose stubble as the frost comes continues to harden
Bumps into a stranger and begs him his pardon
She's wasting away.

As the snow comes down in the winnowing light
She traps flakes on her tongue and shrieks with delight
But where will she spend the night?
She's wasting away.

With her socks that don't match
And her dress made of thatch
And her eyes shiny from laughing
And her head full of visions
Of how this decision
Will go
When she's lying in snow.

Annabele trips up the street
In a dress that don't fit her so neat
her feet and her pulse keep continuous beat
She's fading away

Running again to the too-thin walls
Through which she can hear her parents' brawls
That echo through her mind's crooked halls
She's fading away
She's fading away