There's a tapping on my window seat, a tapping from the outside. the chilling wind blows in, wiping dry my shady tears, which should have left so long ago. i sit here at my window seat, another family in my house, which we built so long ago.
Many years have come and gone, and yet i still sit here staring out my window seat. i close my eyes, the old grandfather clock sings, one... two... three... His car pulls into the driveway, four... five... six... the entrance door slams shut, seven... eight... nine... he walks across the room, the same piercing stare on his face.
He picks me up from my window seat; across the room i fly. the other family in my house can't see what he will do. it's been sixty years since i could feel the pain, yet it feels like only yesterday. he throws me into the walls over and over, slapping and hitting me again and again. i can feel the warmth of the blood run down my face. across the foom i fly, my head a thump upon my window seat.
he walks pass and lights a match. smoke lingers up and falls down, fleeing forward along the ground. the smell of dragon's blood hits my face while i lie in front of my window seat. the cold slowly starts taking me over in front of my beloved window seat. the grandfather clock begins to sing, its face all cracked and shattered, one,,, two... three... alcohol floods the room unto my face, four... five... six... blood all around me, seven... eight... he picks me up to my window seat, nine... ten... that look of sorrow upon his face. i reach for the phone as he grabs it from my hand.
another family in my house who do not know we're there. i scream for help and cry aloud, but no one knows... i'm here in my window seat. the horrid thughts run through my mind as i hide my face while he hits me again.
there's a cracking from my window seat, a cracking from above. the glass is cracked and chipped, and all coverd with blood. the police have come to get me, yet i sill sit here looking out my window seat. once again the police don't notice me but cover my eyes with black. I sit here at my window seat, another family in my house. the grandfather clock, all cracked and broken, once agin is silent until tomorrow when he comes again.
i sit here at my window seat, as the chilling wind wipes dry my shady tears that others forgot so long ago. as i sit here in my window seat, many more years will come and go, yet i will still be sitting here in my beloved window seat.
