She said she didn't like her voice.
I don't like mine either, but in the end we are all just broken birds singing broken words.
A song for many, a song for one,
looking for a place to belong.
It's hard to think that in this world, we are so tiny that a moment turns into a memory in the blink of an eye, and that when you are gone maybe you forget everything.
But the people you were with never will forget the times you shared and the smiles you brought to the faces of the broken kids.
So now I say, broken birds sing beautiful songs and like mockingjays we are many but one.
