I'm sorry for you, for all I DID mean to.
I'm sorry for truth yelling under the letters.
I'm sorry for gloom I used to be into.
I'm sorry for words that were ment to be better.
I'm sure you'll learn how to be optimistic,
and all of your sorrow will burst in a firework.
I'm sure you'll taste both the carrot and broomstick,
and critic with sarcasm will become a fair quirk.
I'm sure you'll manage to blow off the ceilings,
to do something wierd, worth to be accused of.
I hope that you'll learn to sort out the feelings
and born the new tenet out of the used stuff.
I want you to find something to govern.
I wish you object every slightest assurance.
I warn you to leave any secret uncovered
so it won't appear as nightmare to you once.
Be careful with matches, refuel the gaslight,
extinguish the candle, let the night to mourn.
I'd say, single point to fear the Last fight:
to set Life aside until you'll have to moor.