Walk pass the black silver hanging on the wall –

is that really me? That corpse staring back at me?

What happened to the face of glowing embers I thought I had?

No, I know that I've slowly been disintegrating into ash.

No, there is nothing I can say that will change the way I am.

There are shadows on my face that just won't seem to leave.

There's that mask, stuck on with super glue, why won't it come off?

Bitter, bitter little girl, your dreams have been crushed, haven't they?

The voices from your stories are coming true, while the love poems aren't.

When did fate become a game, and when did love become a haunted grave?

Look at all those things surrounding my poor hollow body.

Look at what they've done to me.

Yes, the black silver hanging on the wall reflects who I really am.

This carcass of rotting flesh, diseased and broken,

this horrible nightmare from which you can never wake.

Yes, the black silver hanging on the wall shows the truth –

what do you see?