Staring at the starless sky,
Watching my own life go by,
From a spectators point of view,
Wondering what it is I'll do.

My life's been short it's true,
And almost insignificant too.
I've never really loved someone,
Or even truly had fun.

And, when all's said and done,
Who, or what, have I become?
A creature with a hardened heart?
I had no chance from the start.

Life's a play, a dying art,
I went along and played my part,
Not quite following the story being told,
And now my role's getting old.

The night is also getting cold
And I still have no one to hold.
Lying in the growing mist,
I imagine the warmth of a small kiss.

My mind continually insists
When I am gone I won't be missed.
I have no family, peers or friends.
Who could be troubled by my early end.

My life is too broken to mend,
And this final message I send:
If someone, anyone, anywhere out there
Could ever possibly try to care

Shout out, so I can be aware,
That there IS love for me somewhere.
No? Well then this is goodbye
I huddle up and start to cry, cry...