Always bitter,
Always serious
You're no use at all
To delve me into melancholy
It takes a kind of joy
And some romance
To make me feel at home

Can't avoid
Feeling like a bed of nails
Would be of some comfort
I was always so young
And innocent
And how I bled!

Come to me
And hold me
And let yourself be held
By arms as scarred as yours
And yet your joy is inexplicable
And it makes me sad
And what will become of you when I am gone?

Leaving the system at sixteen?
I never even thought of it
And you need to get a better job
With better pay
And less lecherous supervisors

Tell me something
That will make me cry
I need to feel