The world is a bad place for a good soul, yet we can ignite like burning coal.
Fire in our eyes, we can make their heartbeats rise, within shady lies.
We pretend to know, but we're moving far to slow, since lies freeze us into ice.

Gotta help someone out, then I can feel proud -
But should I really feel that way, is it really good to say?

If I'd be in need, I'd look for a hand that feeds,
I would be kind, and would not have any bad things on my mind.

I've got used so many times, but I never noticed it.
Trapped inside a shell, never cracked and never escaped, because it had a hard shape.

Sometimes I think about me, who is stuck inside this misery.
I can't live, but at least I survive, even though the knife is my only friend in Life.

I hide my tears, living with my fears, but I smile, since I don't want others to worry,
it's just a normal day, me writting a letter and acting to feel better, but whatever.

I am trying to help people, always and whenever I can, but when they tell me to take care of myself, I could cry and ask myself, why don't you take care of me and why do I have to do it for you, where's the logic, where are you, when you need me I am here, but I am alone and I have to take care of my own fear.

We could live a happy life, but since the world is a bad place for a good soul, we will never be together and our days will be as dark as crows.