My words are like knives,
you say.
Do they make your cold heart hurt?
I’ve made you cold,
you say.
Was there warmth in the start?
Ah, I’m such a horrible person
with no heart,
or love to offer in it.
I’m made of stone;
and don’t you run away.
It’s your fault
that I’m like this too.
What if death won’t put me to rest?
What if afterlife is cruel to me?
Even if I die,
the world will still turn.

Even when I’m gone,
you would still suffer.
Even when you’re gone,
your cold words would still echo
in my heart.

Because I dress in pink,
do they think I’m fine?

If I dress in black,
would they know what’s wrong?

 I’m cruel
you’re cruel too.
I’m scared
you’re scared too.

I see fear in your trembling cruelty.
I see you through.
Like mother,
like daughter.