I find often that my words are empty
Like a heart barren of love.
Isn't it funny that we only care about ourselves?
That's all that humans think of.

My voice is this tool
That I use to manipulate my circumstance;
To please others,
Lie about my stance.

It's so dangerous for me to be honest,
In a house full of monsters.
I'll tell you that it often seems
That my heart will burst.

But its not because my heart is empty,
I definitely have love,
But it's never returned to me,
I'm just something to get rid of.