Tell me, little girl.

Tell me little girl, how does it to be loved?

Help me imagine they way it feels to be touched, not shoved.

What does it mean to know that no matter what you do,

You'll have someone not related to hold and kiss you?

Why do you have him, while my heart is bare?

Is it your looks: your blue eyes and golden hair?

Is it your skills, what you can do with a marker or pen?

I know it ain't your personality, you're about sweet as a hen.

But still, you've got him, that's a done deal,

My real question is why are you so unreal?

It's true that you say you've been hurt before,

But you can't be wounded that much and be harmed anymore.

If you were injured that much, you'd never let new cuts show.

It makes it impossible for me to believe you, so...

I make this wish that you'll get the right to complain,

That you break your leg and he leaves you in the rain.

Then maybe once you're sobbing on the floor,

You'll seem far more human than before.

I'll have my own love by then, and then we

Will help you up, something you never did for me.