When there's tears running down my cheeks,
and bloody thoughts rule my mind,
it's hard to believe that there's someone out there.
If I turn my face upwards to the heaven and cry out,
will I ever hear a voice singing in reply to me.
What's the point of praising something
if you believe in him at all?
What's the point in pretending
when you could walk away without a care?
You might think I'm a believer,
if you look at the people who surround me.
But don't judge me by who my family is.
I am me. I am me. I am me. I am me.
And I will never believe.