Sticks and stones will break my bones,
And rattle the demons inside.
They wake and churn,
And smile and burn,
And look at me in disgust.

The glass has broke and seven years choke,
But somehow I still have bad luck.
I twist and turn,
And run to earn
A little moment of hope.

As years go by, I spill my salt,
And whither along with the slugs.
I shrink and shrivel,
And stare and snivel,
At the girl reflecting above.

No more this, no more that, no more falling off track,
And maybe then I will be perfect.
But inside I know
I'll never let go
To the arms that rock me to sorrow.

And as my eyes grow heavy,
I feel in my heart
A message that has always rung true;
Although sticks and stones may break my bones,
These demons will forever haunt me.