• sixteen candles of black wax
    They day I turn sixteen draws near,
    a day of false joy and a love that is not true.
    To be alone on that day is my biggest fear,
    will there not be someone to console this soul which is dead blue?
    Love is a gift I will not get
    but loneliness is a gift I will receive, that I bitterly bet.

    On that morbid day I do so hope to get a cake,
    coated with my own crimson candy,
    and have people say "happy birthday" with words that are not fake.
    Maybe then I would shed a tear that will give my cake a touch so dandy.
    A tear of joy I will not shed,
    for it shall be a tear of pain instead.

    If a gift for myself I could choose,
    It'd be for someone to share a love that would last through it all,
    someone who I could never lose.
    But alas I can not, so my wishes and hopes must take a fall.
    Remember I must to put on my mask.
    To fool others is its blissful task.

    My faced barely ever breaks,
    to show my true pain.
    My act barely ever shakes,
    to show that I am slowly going insane.
    In an never ending play I live in,
    never did I know, a character of pain I have always been.

    In the sweet dreams of lies I wish to live in forever,
    but even lies come to an end, sadly.
    If not I would wake from my dreaming never,
    and live in a world where things don't go badly.
    But from my dreams I am cut off by an ax,
    when I see the sixteen candles of black wax.