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Description
There is softness in her soul.
She is born, warm and tender,
And there is softness in her soul.
She grows older, precious innocence fading.
Sometimes she struggles,
But there is softness in her soul.
Older still she grows, childish innocence gone.
She has fallen, time and time again.
Her warm tenderness goes away,
But there is still softness in her soul.
The years drag on, she is worn down.
She is not warm, or tender, and her softness has been slowly dissolving.
She is cold and brittle now, laden with cracks, and she is bleeding.
She falls again and shatters, one piece becoming one million.
From those pieces, a million just like her are born.
And so this shall always be.

Description
There is softness in her soul.
She is born, warm and tender,
And there is softness in her soul.
She grows older, precious innocence fading.
Sometimes she struggles,
But there is softness in her soul.
Older still she grows, childish innocence gone.
She has fallen, time and time again.
Her warm tenderness goes away,
But there is still softness in her soul.
The years drag on, she is worn down.
She is not warm, or tender, and her softness has been slowly dissolving.
She is cold and brittle now, laden with cracks, and she is bleeding.
She falls again and shatters, one piece becoming one million.
From those pieces, a million just like her are born.
And so this shall always be.