Life passes by the window,
as if someone where to look in.
but im in the back, i call it my meddow,
i sit to think,long hours as i sit in the trash bin.
not to be disterbed, i play my music and write,
hours pass by, not a word to be written down.
i remember of a pass memory, i take a deep breath and bite,
i look around and anouther memory is what i foun.
i hate it, i hate it, it makes me sick,
i dont want to remember, all of it i want to forget.
out of everything suffering is what i pick,
i just cry, let it out and curl into a ball.
i hate to let my feelings out, with or without people aroun,
some try to get it out, some just sit and watch as i sink into a hole.
i dont get it, they all seem to lead a better crown,
now ill sit and cry my tears in frount of me; this ceral bowl.
