There are reasons for me to be so cold.
I'm just like a season, except you choose what you want.
I know that there is no point of being under your control.
Because there are things that make people feel loved.

I am under this spell, that can not be broken from my heart.
I've learned to push away all that I've ever got.
There's no other way to explain a single feeling inside.
I rather just lay here, hoping that I get through the next day of my life.

Tell me why I can not decide, how I am inside.
I'm a runaway from pain, and an orphan from love.
Drunk off thoughts from the staring of the moonlight and lights from cars.
High, with a pillow underneath the delicacy of my brain.

It must be my fault or at least a person to blame.