Eventually, I’ll find my feet and I will walk until I start to lose my way
And lose the weight, of every burden, that I’ve carried on my own without a helping hand
Or an answer to help me understand, why I was born with my eyes to the floor
And the feeling that I will amount to nothing more, than wasted space.
 
I’ll break my trends, like the way I spend my days retracing steps, reciting words
Perfect in verse, then dwell on hurt, alone, I converse with the noise inside my head
And the ghosts that haunt the corners of my mind, in a sad attempt to find
Something beautiful inside.