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2010-08-20 | |
Once, upon my story, there was me,
One, who thinks his life isnât as you see.
This part will tell what time can do
To me, my worldâŚ to all I knew.
Time is something that we made,
That we blame when moments fade,
But, for me, means something strange,
I hate timeâŚ for me, itâs change.
When weâre young, we think so straight,
We cherish love and donât know hate,
But, when time steps in to play,
People change in every way.
I every wayâŚ but all alike:
Lying selfish with urge to strike,
To hurt deep, theyâre all the same,
In my heart, itâs time I blame.
âChange in good exists as wellâ,
Other people like to tell,
But theyâre blind, donât see what moves,
And what I know just disapproves.
Time has changed my world a lot,
I donât know whatâs true or not,
Iâm not sure what wounds to tend,
I donât remember whatâs a friend.
Still, instead of giving up,
I have chosen not to stop,
I donât want to live in shameâŚ
âDifferenceâ over âall the sameâ.
Time is something that I hate,
It makes us want to plan our fate.
I wonât change, no need to worry,
Ends this chapter of my story.
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