I was a prince charming, my armour impenetrable.
A long line of defeated boys lay slain by my side.
I was untouchable, untouched. I was loved but I refused to love.

My mother died in front of my eyes, 22 years on she still treats me like a child.
She's still trying to make me into something better than anything I'll ever be.
That way she'd have something else to look at when she looked at me.
No longer would my father ghosts linger upon my features.

I built my self a fortress, a cold heart guarded by a switchblade tounge.
My army of lies made sure nobody got too close.
I used 'casual' to wage war against myself in beds all over town.