They'll sew your lips shut in pretty little stitches
To keep your screams quiet,
Because beauty is nothing less than immeasurable pain.
I hear you'll be grateful though;
Your face will be lovely
And because of your tightly bound lips,
No one can smell the way your insides will rot.

"Are you from around here?"
You would have rolled your eyes at the city sky
Muttered something about Westernization
No stars in the sky
But baby, here they have the lights.

A man asked about you today
He said "and your lover?"
I told him you were long gone,
Feared the exposure of city lights
New York doesn't love me like you do
I said "my lover is a runaway fugitive"
Anything but the truth.

I don't need a lullaby.

I'm tired of being told to sleep it off and that it'll all be better tomorrow because sometimes you wake up feeling as desperate (if not more so) than before.

Pretty lyrics aren't going to remedy ugly scathing words and a soft, slow melody isn't going to cover up the irregular sound of a heart trying to beat in a rhythm it doesn't remember.

So kindly stop trying to force me to enjoy a happy tune I don't want to sing and give me a song that's honest and angry and raw like I am because at least then I don't have to pretend everything is just fine.