Sometimes, when I'm alone, I cry, 'cause I am on my own. The tears I cry are bitter and warm. They flow with life, but take no form. I cry because my heart is torn. I find it difficult to carry on. If I had an ear to confide in, I would cry among my treasured friends, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on?

I would rather be stricken blind than to live without expression of mind.

If it meant my love was really true, I'd gladly die and watch over you.

They loved the sight of your dimming, and flickering starlight. How could they understand what was so intricate to be loved by so many, so intimate.

When your heart turns cold, it causes your soul to freeze.

What of fame? Everybody knows your name: never again are you alone.