When a story starts from the very beginning,
is it really the very beginning?

When Cinderella started her tale so cold,
it only told what we wanted to be told.
Not the years of anguish, pain and utter destruction,
those were irrelevant to our audience?

For I feel dazed, not replying at all,
the sense of edge filling up my soul.
I almost cackle at the phrase,
it's not really something I'd want to say.

You leave me a message with ambition and delight,
but I don't reply on this night,
or week, month, year to come.

It's not you,
you just don't know me at all.

When you sent that message of hope and glee,
I was stuck in my daze of emotionless fields.
But I promise you now, please listen to me clear,
one day I'm finally going to get out of here.

It's not your fault, my lips are sealed,
you just didn't know what happened to me.