People ask me what's wrong with me
But I don't really know.
My heart, it cries to me.
Weeps so gently.
This isn't the feeling of happiness,
no trace of a smile.
The birds sing around me,
the saddest song.
The sweetest melody,
yet your eyes tear over.
Why I think like this,
do not ask.
They say I am dull;
but I am truley unique,
because in the end
I'm the only girl to feel this way.
This pain.
This hurt.
It tortures me.
If I do say so myself. . .
I'm the Devils child.
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