Horns

She has a horn in the top of her head
And no boy would ever call her pretty
She has a horn in the top of her head
And her parentage is a lonely mystery
She has a horn in the top of her head
And she's a girl experiencing cruelty

She wished she's not owned by her deformity, that she's not summed up by only her anatomy.
There's more to her than just her abnormality, she has a heart and that part of her is not unsightly.

Most days she dances in the ring of Saturn, in the tune of solidarity.
In between dejection and desolation, she's a song of melancholy.
Written by a composer whose life is ridden with endless tragedy.
She's cold to the marrow of her bones, so alone in her universe of lonely.

A/N: Not really finished.