The scars on my wrist tell a story,
the story is sad but true,
about a broken girl who hurt inside,
but on the outside was just like you

And as she suspends herself on the rope,
hanging from mid-air,
her last thought was how great life would've been,
if he wasn't there

Everybody is all the same,
there's no longer any individuality in this world,
all these people are being sculpted from the same mold,
everybody is bent and shaped to form the same creation,
god's perfect vision

She hangs herself from the nearest tree,
so her pain is displayed for all to see

Looking in the mirror
with scornful eyes
she curses every imperfection
no mark or blemish
goes unnoticed
for her fear of rejection

Her idea of success is watching the numbers on the scale go down.