I am nothing to be remembered, for that I am quite sure
I am nothing special, nothing amazing to be used by the world
I am no prodigy child, no brilliant mind, no immaculate soul
I am not a miracle, not an sain, not a precious joy
I am not a life to be proud of one, just one live
I have perfected few talent, and not those to boast
I have learned to become invisible, so that no one will ask
I have watered the earth with showers of my eyes
I have deafened the demon with the screams of my soul
I have called for my angel, with my last breath of hope
I dream to be more, but expect not to be
I dream to be caught in this eternal fall I live in
I dream to be one no longer needing the outstretched hand
I dream to live not fearing my own mind—the one that so deceives
I dream just to live, without the stain down my cheek
So shall I be, forgotten
So now you soon will see
the only trace to be left
is my epithet to be:
My cross was just too heavy, and my Simon never cam
