If someone was to write a story about my life
it wouldn't be about love and glory
it would be about pain and strife
my life's messed up as you can see
i don't have friends
that have been true to me
chasing dreams
being held back
nothing more is what it seems its what i lack
trying to write about my strife but i sit here and cry about my messed up life
being bipolar
is such a mind controller
pity for me
am i helpless
is it that easy to see
I've ran away
been on the streets
but had no place to stay
done drug's
hung with the thugs ended up being raped
look at my face
a mask has caped
my feeling are hard to express
and my life has been scarred
and loneliness i must confess
even though i tried to work hard
but now I'm alone
none to call home
nowhere known
now I'm dead
and my life's written on a polished rock under a tree so everyone can see
cause the life i onced lived lies beyond the stone that is shown
