The time has come, the truth may be told
The end is near, so this is growing old?
The days are long, not much to do.
The nights are lonely, if only anyone knew.
My mind keeps racing, to things of the past.
The things I've done -- I'm paying for at last.
I want to forget the people I've cared for
The pain would end. I would love no more.
My memory be erased, I could go on
It would be like, I had never been born
Then I could start, this new life I need
My heart would harden, and no longer bleed.
Why has this happened? What have I done?
To imprisson myself -- nowhere left to run...
Sunday, December 2, 2007
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