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Once I could dream of something better, Now I only dream of that which is bitter, I used to be able to see the good in life, Now I only see that which is strife. I once could write about true love, That flew on the wings of a dove. Now, though, I can only write of pain, That floods like a late December rain. Once I knew of what it felt to be happy, Yet now Life seems to me very crappy. And I once knew how to talk to people, While my fingers sat like a steeple, As they told me of their problems, That I might be able to solve them. But now I cannot even look at those, At those that I used to hold so close, At those that I used to hold so close, Without wanting to scream and run, From the pain that has taken away the fun. Now I can no longer that which I once was. No matter what any one else does, To try and make me glad, I seem always to be sad. I follow the path that my mind has set, Always trying, yet never being able to forget. Always hoping for a better chance, Yearning for another dance. It seems that once I could have said, Anything and everything that came into my head, No matter who I am saying it to, So long as it were completely true, Now I cannot say a thing to anyone, No matter what they’ve done. I cannot find a way to make myself hear, That which other people fear, Even as it comes from their own mouth, For I am always headed south, Trying to find a more pleasant place, Even a nicer, better human race, Because I long to happy again, Truly happy, for maybe only then, May I be able to do again, That which I now, only think I can, Yet now I know it cannot be true, At least not until I have You.
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