Today i picked up this pen
and remembered the times when the only person i could talk to was to spin it out in ink
Theres so much on my mind and i forgot the person i could turn too when theres was no one there to listen Something i couldnt bare to leave on someones shoulders
thinking of those friends that I've known and lost
How've theyve changed over the years
worrying about those loved ones
Why does it have to be this way
Why cant i be like someone else
or why couldnt i be someone else
I know problems are going to follow me
Its not something we can escape
but sometimes i just wish theyd disapear
