So tenderly, your story is nothing more than what you see or what you've done. Or will become, standing strong. Do you belong in your skin, just wondering? Gentle now, the tender breeze blows, whispers through my Gran Torino whistling another tired song. Engine humms and bitter dreams grow; a heart locked in a Gran Torino beats a lonely rhythm all night long, it beats...

Realign all the stars above my head are warning signs. Travel far, I drink instead. On my own: Oh,how I've known the battle scars and worn out beds! These streets are old, they shine with the things I've known and breaks through the trees their sparkling. Your world is nothing more than all the tiny things you've left behind... May I be so bold and stay. I need someone to hold that shudders, my skin, their sparkling.

Clint Eastwood.