"Where was the love?" wonders little Isobell Chariot,
For there she lay, battered amid a bed of broken heart and spirit.
Her arms and her legs, they ached and she could feel it.
Mother said she was naughty,
and she was beaten by daddy.
What made them, though, hate little Isobell Chariot so badly?
Was she a bad girl?
Was it because she allowed her dress and hair to go so scandalously unfurled?
Or could it have been the little boy with which she all day danced and whirled?
They never liked him.
She, however, saw him as her seraphim,
Her savior to come rescue her from her parent's cruel whims.
Now, here lays Isobell Chariot.
Gone is her kindred spirit.
Now, there's only the specter whom all fear when they hear it:
"Where was your love mommy?"
"Where was your pride in me, daddy?"
"Why did you beat me so badly?"
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