It’s the burden I bear.
It’s the cross I always wear.

It’s a secret I can never tell.
It’s a feeling that only I know quite well.

It’s a black mar upon my soul.
It’s the epitome of a hopeless goal.

It’s the eternal fear I harbor.
It’s pushing me back into hell, even farther.

It’s that that thing my conscience advises me against.
But now I know I have to suffer my penance.

It’s something quite similar to a cancerous disease.
It’s the way I feel, all the pent up unease.

Its just like the cancer, there is no cure.
Well, maybe the words of a little girl so pure.