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.