Who am I now, who was I then?
The same person? I’m not convinced
A decade on my own, a lifetime left to live,
the end is coming quick and I have nothing to show for it
And I’ve been hoping this whole time
the words that I write would keep me from the grave
Nothing’s ever permanent, I’m just getting used to it
Trying to leave my mark on this but nothing ever seems to stick
I’ve spent all my time alone wondering about the life I chose (or didn’t)
When I’m gone how will you remember me?
Like a dream or like a vivid memory?
Will these words I write ever reach your lips or will they go unsung?
Promise me you wont forget who I am
When my bones are all gone,
will my words still be here?