Take out from my hands all that used to be mine, I don't care. I give up fighting for what I think belongs to me, 'cause I'm tired of losing. I'm tired of all this, of being extremelly alone and not being appreciate. I'm tired. I'm tired of losing. Tired of being the second option, the context. Something that they can live without. Tell me who is wrong now, 'cause they had told me they loved me, but that isn't what my eyes see. Any time of my life there has always been someone more important than me. The second. The third. The last...