She is sitting in the cupboard,
In the cold and dark, alone.
She has been there many times before,
Sitting on her own.
And rocking slowly back and forwards,
And swaying side to side,
And praying underneath her breath,
Of all the things inside.
And though she frown and though she cry,
And though she bruised and sore.
They're all hidden out of sight,
Behind the cupboard door.