Autobiography
Forever began at the day of my birth, but, it turns out that it was a lie,
I am who I am when nobody's watching, then nothing is there to deny.
As it turns out, the feelings are easy but happiness lives on the hill
I climb in the rain so they can't see me crying then nothing is there to explain.
I'm often seduced by my own self-rejection; my past is what I failed to be,
My friends are the gift that I give to my heartache, the fruit of the child I set free.
Only at night with my head on the pillow the garden of rest blooms inside,
Conscience is only the orphan moon singing, tomorrow the stranger beside.
Why should I speak there are no ears to listen? Why then confess to my crime?
I wasted the moments I could have done better, my hourglass emptied of time.
So what am I now-you face in the mirror? Every line penalty's cost
The price of a soul is in loving unwisely, it's better to love and have lost.