There are times I pretend to be human
I try to hold on, I try to be real
Imagine myself as a true man
Who's able to do, not just feel

Other times, I am just like a writer
The words still exist, flowing like rain
With no friends but the smoke and the lighter
Like sun shining bright on my pain

There's a God, they say, somewhere in heaven
The God of Job and my brother Kane
If it is true, why can't I believe then
That my efforts aren't made in vain?

I want real talks, like Poe and his Raven
Nevermore, true, but nevertheless
Lenor's dead now, for I am a craven
Yes, I made her bleed, I confess

I'm a thought, I am somebody's nightmare
My speech tends to fade, my face to melt
I'm a memory of something unfair
I feel all that's not to be felt

Look at me, I assume I'm a poet
My words of false, they pin down and rape
If you don't have your heart, try to grow it
Like I did with my human shape.