This loneliness is something we all know.
I've grown used to it's odd, yet particular warmth.
I have outgrown so much and so many have outgrown me.
The things I want are not the things I need.
What am I destined to be? If anything at all.
Who's to catch me when I'm bound to fall?
What is there to do when you've tried it all?
Who am I to call when there's nothing left,
But vacant halls and tarnished walls?