A lonely heart is filled with indicision
Tormented by the truth of its vision
And the torture of isolation
Striving to confess the pains of rejection.
It's pain grow sharp
That it no longer plays harp
The birth of its love is lost
It was dead only to pay the cost
Alone in its hour of wild thinking
Alone in its hour of solitude
Haven't felt like a prostitute,
Swears never to mingle again with the multitude.