Choosing between good or bad depends on how we perceive it
Deep inside we have doubts about our decisions and think of it
You say I only write sad things and that’s because I’m that way
I can talk about anything with anyone but where is my way?
Can only see the pain everywhere I look even if they are smiling
Buried under the sorrow I let myself loose because I’m dyeing
When I hear the piano I can feel my heart chocking with each sound
The violin is electrocuting my soul and soon I hit the cold ground
I’m just a little weak boy lost in this dark jungle of depression
Sometimes I get so angry wish I could break out of this prison
No one is near me to slap me in the face so I stop what I’m doing
When I try to go to sleep my bed is like a coffin and I’m mourning
The raw reality is out there even if act as if you were blinded
Sounds of the unbearable hurt is echoing in me and stuck in my head
I keep a picture in my hand looking at in the night imagining I dye
If you would come to my funeral what would you say or do? Why?
People shouldn’t read or feel what I feel while I’m writing
Although I can’t see them I know they are mute and shaking when reading
Music has been a big part of my life, the beats and rhymes like a vibe
Everyone’s getting scared when finished reading finding out I’m not alive.