Misters' of no one
I am born to be alone
Self-sufficient, no.
Still, the only thing I pretend to be.
I feel this emptiness that will
Never be fulfilled and it is
Destroying everything around
Equal to death and always
Pending for love
Even tough it
Never comes around
Distinguishing little things
Even tough I ain't happy because of them
Nice living in the life filled with
Tormenting pain in the heart.
