You have no idea.

Wasting time pounding nails into a brick wall.
With my bare hands.
They won't penetrate, and if they do...
The bricks just shatter.

I refuse to fight a war against you.
I'm at war with myself.
My resources have been drained dry.
I have no ammunition.

So, I'm not a porcelain angel painted in gold.
What does it mean to you?
Did you expect me to be something from a fairytale?
To answer all your prayers?

Because I'm nothing more than a little girl.
You hold me up too high.
And in my mind I am not who you think.
In that sense I can't be me.

I am not a medicine that you can swallow.
I refuse to be your panacea.
Because I already have more than I could ever want.
But you don't listen to me.