She came with a bed time story of a gal who had not a clue
about where to go or what ever to do
she spent her days sulking
upon worries and worries that have been bulking
her dreams uncertain and her mind a clutter
the desires of her heart cannot help but flutter

she's running out of time
someone please tell her being puzzled is no crime
her identity is entirely made from imagination and affection
like everyone else, insecure with her own imperfection
not everybody's cup of tea
everybody's best friend she tries to be
but often lonely
and sick of monotony

She asked who the girl was
I answered, "the girl is me."