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.



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 get any 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.