I knew of a man old and wise with
a beard of grey, a beard of grey
known as the creator of humans and Earth
or so they say, or so they say.

I watched him sculpt a human girl
with such great ease, with such great ease
choosing her parents and ideal traits
 suited to please, suited to please.

"I pity the man who falls for her"
I heard him say, I heard him say
"I pity the heart, the golden heart
he'll give away, he'll give away."

I didn't ask why he felt this way
the wise old man, the wise old man
Instead I watched her life unfold
before fate's plan,before fate's plan.

Such a lovely girl was she
with satin hair, with satin hair
and eyes of summer sparkling
without a care, without a care.

She wasn't like the other girls.
she was so rare, she was so rare,
she spoke her mind and yet was kind
She chose to dare, she chose to dare.

And dare she did, she lived her life
the way she chose, the way she chose.
It wasn't hard to fall in love with
such a rose, yes, such a rose.

 Yet as she grew so did the thoughts
of her last breath, of her last breath
as loneliness swept through her veins
 and scooped up death, and scooped up death.

For though she was so loved and dear
by many guys, by many guys
her heart could not accept their words.
they were all lies, they were all lies.

She couldn't be their lovely girl
though she would try, though she would try
getting obsessed with pleasing them
until she'd cry, until she'd cry.

And then I realized with such great pain
That God was wrong, that God was wrong
it wasn't the heart of the lovesick man
that was not strong, that was not strong

But rather the angel he sculpted then
who gave away, who gave away
her heart until it was no more..
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This just came to me randomly, particularly the third stanza, in which I sculpted the rest based on. Not too sure what really became of it. -shrug- But I can say it took a completely different turn than what I originally had in mind.