I'd like to know for once if that little voice in my head is right.
That those seemingly pointless blurbs are about me
that the flood of emotion behind it is true.
Ngeh, forget it. Where has dreaming gotten you before?
Hurt. Spikes. misery.
The truth is so clear, it's staring me in the face.
I cannot be loved. I am obsolete, and will only physically die years after I have faded out of every being's memories.
No one's gonna look my way, no one's gonna return the good will.
Hell, I don't know why I even try
Losing the battle for power
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