There ain’t any feeling,
there ain’t any joy.
O why should I moan,
when it was always a goodbye.

She used to make me happy,
which was never her attempt.
It was just my heart,
which on her only sight felt rich and content.

I cried when she cried.
I jumped when she joyed.
This process well continued,
but the opposite wasn’t ever tried.

Being played by her,
sometimes I feel like a toy.
O why should I moan,
when it was always a goodbye.