She won't recover from her losses,
she's not chosen this path,
but she watches who it crosses,
maybe move to the right,
maybe move to the left,
so we can all see her pain she wears like a banner on her chest,
and we all say it's sad,
and we think it's a shame,
and she's called to our attention,
but we do not call her name,
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands,
'cause we're busy with our happiness,
busy with our plans,
i wonder if alone she wants it taken from her hands,
but if things didn't keep getting harder,
she might miss her sacred chance,
to go a consecrated martyr,
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands,
i wonder which saint,
that lives inside a bead,
will grant her consolation,
when she counts upon her need,
it makes us all angry,
though we feign to care,
but who will be the scale,
to weigh the cross she has to bear,
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands,
is the glass half-full or empty,
i ask her as i fill it,
she said it doesn't really matter,
pretty soon you're bound to spill it,
with the half logic language,
of the sermon she delivers,
and the way she smiles so knowingly at me,
gives me the shivers
i pull the blanket higher,
when i'm finally safe at home,
and she'll take a hundred with her,
but she always sleeps alone,
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands,
i wonder which saint,
that lives inside a bead,
will grant her consolation,
when she counts upon her need
it makes us all angry,
though we feign to care,
but who will be the scale,
to weigh the cross she has to bear,
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands