I know I'm not a princess of your world.
I wonder if I should be trying out.
The story's boring and it's pretty old.
There's nothing in it for your heart to melt.
Why turn my inside out when I'm not sure.
Of how you would react such stuff.
Your pity might of course be a kind of cure.
But pity's not the reason for your love.
I'm getting used to everything I see.
And other thought would simple come and go.
My jealous thoughts of you don't bother me.
I'm used to what I feel and what I know.
I get a little anxious when you are laughing.
'Cause the inside of me is worth of fun.
It doesn't hurt but simply aches a little.
Like symptoms of disease, that almost gone.