Pretty Thing

This pain I carry round inside me,
It is a pretty thing.
I guess I couldn't live without it,
I couldn't sing.

It feeds me breakfast,
I eat it fore I go to bed.
It's my colored glasses,
It's my meat and bread.

This pain I carry round inside me,
It's like an only child,
I'd like to do something to help it,
It is so strange and wild.

It's all the things I ever wanted
That could never be,
It's all the loves I ever reached for,
But they were far from me.

This pain I carry round inside me
It's like my own right hand,
It's like the sound of my voice crying,
It's like my trade mark brand.

This pain I carry round inside me,
It is a pretty thing,
I guess I couldn't live without it,
I couldn't sing.