I’m used to being dark’s friend, The moon knows about my sorrow, I know about crying without end, Waiting to end it when it’s tomorrow.
They told me they loved me. But it wasn’t true. That they don’t need me, that’s why I’m used to Being wounded, broken, bruised, lied to; I’ve got a thousand wounds over my heart and through.
You think it’s scary for me to remain alone? Or to be told that I am unworthy and unloved? Believe me, I’ve heard these words more than you know. But I’ve learnt that I’m brave, I’m soulful, I’m loved.