The Girl Who Survived

A little girl, as young and wild as could be,
With a heart made of gold and a spirit set free. Her laughter was endless, a symphony bright, a cascade of giggles and smiles, pure delight. But one day she fell, and the change was profound, a silent malaise where no comfort was found.

She was pinned to the couch, the life in her fled, lay utterly still with a fear in her head.
Watching the world with a helpless, wary cringe, while death’s chilly whisper began to draw in. Her father observed, just an observer in pain, as the light in her faded like mist in the rain.

The relatives worried, the phone quickly rang, "Come home!" they urged her, a desperate pang. Her mother arrived, seeing life almost gone, eclipsed by the dawn that she rushed through alone.
A blur in the night to the hospital light,
To the sterile white promise, a desperate, fierce fight. The doctors spoke softly, Kawasaki disease was the name, "You're a lucky girl, living," they put to her claim.

She was pinned to the couch, the life in her fled, lay utterly still with a fear in her head.
Watching the world with a helpless, wary cringe, while death’s chilly whisper began to draw in. Her father observed, just an observer in pain, as the light in her faded like mist in the rain.

She fought and she lived, survived the cruel test, but a scar on her future was left in her chest. No longer the runner, the quick, joyful stride, she learned what it meant to be out of breath inside. Her heart didn't fully recover from the fight, the damage remained, yet it held onto the light.

The sickness took something, a piece of her ease, but it failed in the end, for it couldn't cease the fierce, beating truth: she still had to live, the life she was given, the one she would give.

She still had to live...
With the scar and the light...
The life she would give...

Acoustic and Folk Ballad