The price of a critically known, costs me being
secretly alone. Torn in all of the successes,
and what it took on all the stages I now perform.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Children of a whole lot of broken homes,
too broke for the things they can't afford.
I just wanted to buy things I could hold,
a little successful wealth to call my own.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A crying voice in a cheerful poem,
a choking **** disguised as a rose.
In my heart—all cracks and holes,
and I hope you don't see into it, to question it's morals.
I'm a thousand hurts, in a few hundred acclaimed poems.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A desire to love; desired to have been loved,
to an open hand joy, not trapped in a glove.
Not laughing at myself, as being less than enough,
feeding on my pleasures, and but still to starve.
I have no place for my heart—but just the scars pus.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Really I don't know!