• It makes me die inside,
    To know that my character isn't pleasing,
    That I cannot fulfill the needs of a woman,
    That people seem to like me,
    But nothing is ever good enough to them

    It makes me die inside,
    To have once thought,
    That I was finally a man,
    That I was good enough for somebody,
    But that has now faded away

    Does it make you die inside,
    When you go to bed alone,
    It makes you wonder,
    Am I really this person,
    Who can't be a man?