Photojournalist - Small Black

What had become of the woman

Who lingered around

In the photo?

The daughter of Diane

Would never, ever be bound

To the basic

To rise up again

Rise up again

Like a ghost I saw it

Rise up again

Rise up again

Like a ghost

Here with me

You will

Stop, I’m not ready to know

Who she was

Stop, I’m not ready to know

Who she was

There is a difference between

What you want them to know

And what they have to know

There in the mirror

Reality never was found

From the waist up

To rise up again

Rise up again

Like a ghost

It started to

Rise up again

Rise up again

Like a ghost

Here with me

You will

Stop, I’m not ready to know

Who she was

Stop, I’m not ready to know

Who she was