When I was younger,
I used to sit in tall trees,
Looking out over existence,
Tasting melancholy,
I never knew the reason,
For sensing such pain,
I couldn't understand,
The sorrow summoned by rain,

Now that I'm fifteen,
I feel much too mature,
The pain held in such beauty,
Is what the young me foresaw,
Inside I now fall slowly,
From those trees and break,
Left cruelly vulnerable,
To the knowledge that aches,

To know the great extent,
Of hurt that you must feel,
Is enough to make you wish that you were hollow,
To see the endless length,
Of the trials that you must face,
Makes you long for more control over the path that you will
follow,

It all seems so out of hand,
It all seems so unfair,
It's simple to hate yourself,
It's diffcult not to care,
I'm very sick of waiting,
Sick of trying to hide,
I need someone to open,
The door from the other side,

They say that love's the answer,
To the questions that I pose,
But love is the villain,
That's set my freedom closed,
I hate being alone,
Can't stand being by myself,
That's when the thoughts and memories,
Consume everything else,

To know the great extent,
Of hurt that you must feel,
Is enough to make you wish that you were hollow,
To see the endless length,
Of the trials that you must face,
Makes you long for more control over the path that you will
follow.