It's the end of a century,
A long hundred years,
I was told to laugh,
But sadly, I cried.
Things that I was told,
To understand,
When I was young,
Still haunt my life,
I still don't understand them.
I'm certainly not remarkable,
I'm not even praiseworthy,
The only thing I understand,
Is what pounds in my chest,
And it's not even the answer,
Not even the truth.
But indefinitely,
What I believe in,
Is what's pounding,
Inside my chest,
Only in the pounding,
Of My chest.
I don't know if it's right,
But then again, it's not wrong,
But I had a unforgotten past,
Rather than patiently waiting,
I'd rather be a child.
I'm certainly not remarkable,
I'm not even praiseworthy,
The only thing I understand,
Is what pounds in my chest,
And it's not even the answer,
Not even the truth.
But indefinitely,
What I believe in,
Is what's pounding,
Inside my chest,
Only in the pounding,
Of My chest.
