I’m pretty.
I think I’m pretty.
Pretty jaw, pretty eyes,
Pretty lips spill pretty lies.

I’m pretty like a nightingale,
I’m pretty like an old tall tale.
I’m pretty like a gold cowbell,
Like a song you know a bit too well.

I’m pretty like a lamb.
All just big eyes and softer heart,
Fragile, gullible, and weak.
Sensitive because it’s easy to weep.

I think I’m pretty,
But also pretty pitiful.
A broken, chewed thumb,
A cracking, small hum,
A pit from a plum,
So foolish and dumb.

I’m pretty.
Pretty sensitive,
Pretty dramatic,
Pretty closed-up,
Pretty eccentric.

I’m a pretty, pretty boy
I’m a pitiful lamb.
I’m a gorgeous, soaring nightingale,
I’m a fragile hand
Reaching out, for someone to hold,

Pitiful, pitiful, shining like gold
Shining bright and pleading clear,
Blinding everything I want to hold dear.

Pity the fool and pity the lamb,
Pity the boy who reached out a hand.
Grip it tight and wrench it hard,
Teach him there’s no place for a lamb with a heart.

Call him weak so he does the honors,
Rips out his wool and bares his teeth
Call him cruel, call him a monster,
But you made a beast out of me.

Now I’m pretty like a blank slate,
Pretty like it’s far too late,
I’m pretty like a red blood moon,
Pretty was gone far too soon.