Depressed.

When I'm at my proudest.

A whisper's smile: it's light.

You always point out something.

There's a fault; it's not quite right.

I suppose I'll never be brilliant.

Destined for picking apart.

Your constant, raging downers-
-Do something to my heart.

I try.
I swear.
I really do.
And even if it's fine...

There'll be something very wrong,
You'll find it there, in time.

I'm sorry.
I'm down.
A bit depressed.
I guess I'll just hang on.

Pass the reins.
To someone else.
Let's have a different song.