A teenage song:

(Dedicated to my parents.) I’m sorry that I cannot be all it is you want from me. If I could change, I surely would be all that you perceive good. But that’s the thing I cannot do. I can’t be perfect just for you. I'm flawed, with imperfection great: Standing here at Despair’s gate. But love you, I can surely do as only I would know how to. That’s my talent, that’s my pride. The thing inside I cannot hide.