There's a pretty lady next to me, she holds me with her cold hands and mumbles things to my ear. The things she says might be good, they might be bad, It doesn't matter, after all she's not planning to stop. She's there when there's no one else, talking with a smooth voice, yet It feels sharper than a Blade through my chest. She holds me when I cry, not trying to comfort, not trying to avoid It, but after all It's her fault in the first place
Loneliness is her name and she's not gonna leave me alone
