She's like a sweater, old and used. Tossed and overworn too many times through. And she used to look so bright. All her seams were tightly tied. . She's like a sweater that's just worn out.
I can't, I can't stop crying. Everyday I'm so afraid, afraid of dying. But death already came and got me. 'Coz I'm not living, I'm not living anyway. .