What?
What am I in this world so vague?
Am I the victim, or am I the plague?
Beyond my name, my self is unknown,
Surround by friends, yet completely alone.
What am I in this land so fake?
Am I the prey, or am I the snake?
Why do I always fall asleep in tears?
Why is death not my greatest of fears?
Must I hold my breath,
To discover my soul?
Must I embrace my death,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world so bland?
Am I the water, or am I the sand?
Why are my dreams so recurrent of my demise?
Why does no one notice my desperate cries?
Who am I in this world so unsound?
Am I the captor, or am I the bound?
Why are my days so persistently pained?
Why is my happiness so frequently feigned?
Must my mind decay,
To discover my soul?
Must I die today,
To gain some control?
Who am I, in this world so cruel?
Am I the creator, or am I the fool?
Why do I have all that I have ever sought?
Yet still live my life so very distraught.
What am I in this world so unjust?
Am I the foundation, or am I the dust?
Why must I always push my friends aside?
From getting too close to the heart that died.
Must I twist the knife,
To discover my soul?
Must I end my life,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world so rash?
Am I the fire, or am I the ash?
Why can I solve most of my friends’ matters?
Yet when I try for myself, my life yet shatters.
Who am I in this world so bleak?
Am I the strong, or am I the weak?
Why is my life so laden with woe?
Why can I not ever know?
Must I sever my veins,
To discover my soul?
Must I drown in these rains,
To gain some control?
Who am I in this world so vile?
Am I the sincere, or am I the guile?
My soul has healed; why do I still die?
My eyes have sealed; why do I still cry?
What am I in this world so plain?
Am I the joy, or am I the bane?
Why has my guide left me to blunder?
Why is my mind so torn asunder?
Must I dig my own grave,
To discover my soul?
Must I be my own slave,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world of scorn?
Am I the rose, or am I the thorn?
Why are my days so burdened with grief?
Is happiness real, or just a belief?
What am I in this world of hate?
Am I the choice, or am I the fate?
Have I died and gone to hell?
Will I forever rot in this cell?
Must I forever weep,
To discover my soul?
Must I eternally sleep,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world of hurt?
Am I the soap, or am I the dirt?
Why are the wounds on my hands still agape?
Why can I not ever escape?
Who am I in this world so vain?
Am I the assassin, or am I the slain?
How does fresh blood still flow from inside;
Since, long ago, my broken heart died?
Must I hold my breath,
To discover my soul?
Must I embrace my death,
To gain some control?
Am I the victim, or am I the plague?
Beyond my name, my self is unknown,
Surround by friends, yet completely alone.
What am I in this land so fake?
Am I the prey, or am I the snake?
Why do I always fall asleep in tears?
Why is death not my greatest of fears?
Must I hold my breath,
To discover my soul?
Must I embrace my death,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world so bland?
Am I the water, or am I the sand?
Why are my dreams so recurrent of my demise?
Why does no one notice my desperate cries?
Who am I in this world so unsound?
Am I the captor, or am I the bound?
Why are my days so persistently pained?
Why is my happiness so frequently feigned?
Must my mind decay,
To discover my soul?
Must I die today,
To gain some control?
Who am I, in this world so cruel?
Am I the creator, or am I the fool?
Why do I have all that I have ever sought?
Yet still live my life so very distraught.
What am I in this world so unjust?
Am I the foundation, or am I the dust?
Why must I always push my friends aside?
From getting too close to the heart that died.
Must I twist the knife,
To discover my soul?
Must I end my life,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world so rash?
Am I the fire, or am I the ash?
Why can I solve most of my friends’ matters?
Yet when I try for myself, my life yet shatters.
Who am I in this world so bleak?
Am I the strong, or am I the weak?
Why is my life so laden with woe?
Why can I not ever know?
Must I sever my veins,
To discover my soul?
Must I drown in these rains,
To gain some control?
Who am I in this world so vile?
Am I the sincere, or am I the guile?
My soul has healed; why do I still die?
My eyes have sealed; why do I still cry?
What am I in this world so plain?
Am I the joy, or am I the bane?
Why has my guide left me to blunder?
Why is my mind so torn asunder?
Must I dig my own grave,
To discover my soul?
Must I be my own slave,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world of scorn?
Am I the rose, or am I the thorn?
Why are my days so burdened with grief?
Is happiness real, or just a belief?
What am I in this world of hate?
Am I the choice, or am I the fate?
Have I died and gone to hell?
Will I forever rot in this cell?
Must I forever weep,
To discover my soul?
Must I eternally sleep,
To gain some control?
What am I in this world of hurt?
Am I the soap, or am I the dirt?
Why are the wounds on my hands still agape?
Why can I not ever escape?
Who am I in this world so vain?
Am I the assassin, or am I the slain?
How does fresh blood still flow from inside;
Since, long ago, my broken heart died?
Must I hold my breath,
To discover my soul?
Must I embrace my death,
To gain some control?