You say I'm lovely, baby; my soul's so free
Yet you imprison me like an animal
Behind bars for being so mesmerizing;
What a sin; you keep me put to watch and revel.

You say I'm strong, baby, but I'm only glass;
Maybe not a mirror but a stained window
So spectacular, as my light trickles out;
Your own Northern Lights; I am breakable, though.

Funny thing about living art is: it dies.
Sad thing about trusting love is: people lie.
Honest thing about heart is: it's in the mind.
Fables about romance: feelings can be kind.