You were a child who was made of glass.
You carried a black heart passed down from your dad.
If somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now;
We all turn away when you're down.
You want to go back to where you felt safe,
To hear your brother's laughter,
See your mother's face.
Your childhood home is just powder-white bones
And you'll never find your way back.
And when you're gone, will they say your name?
And when you're gone, will they love you the same?
If not, that's okay.
If not, that's okay.
