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The past is a home I've made for myself How I dwell in it —felt safe inside its regretful waters Somehow, the past has become a wonderful place for me
The present is a hell I'd rather not live through but I push, I fight because there is nothing I could do —live, they said perhaps, it's only because we have to
The future is a hope I've always thought of throwing away —life is an illusion just as living is nothing but a distraction perhaps, it's something I'd rather not think of
The world is a haze of nothing but fast wind and errant ways —I look only to get thrown into this insanity filled with shiny craze and endless raze Somehow, the world is not something meant for me
So I look down on my toil —past the callous hands I sport and the fragile heart with my soul Perhaps, the past may be my home and the future a hope not meant for me One thing I know for certain —life is another path to choose to walk on and living is but a journey
