Even before I got my first heartbreak
I've given up on love.
It is but an illusion, a fantasy
made by the hopeless for delusional idiots.
"Goodbye," I say to the one who's coming
even before he arrives.
Love is a fantasy
for those seeking true love's kiss
from a prince on a horse.
It is a fantasy, a bittersweet fantasy
of every little girl inside the heart
of women in ball gowns
wishing they were wearing glass slippers.
So I bid true love goodbye.
But in silent nights, I think
About true love's kiss
and the prince about to come.
I, then, must have an idiot living inside my heart.
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