I'd never want my life to be a written book By someone else, distant and unaware I know what goes around In the sea where I drown Me and only myself My head is the pen And my skin is the paper Writing with my actions As ink on a blank white page To be aware and to realize I'm not filling my years up inside a cage I am the writer who writes a future much brighter I am the utopian Truth is buried and far We are all wasting our beautiful youth Missing out the brightness hidden inside of us How could we ever expect to realize ourselves? The pain has left nothing but steam That covers my eyes up Keeping me from seeing the truth Deaf and blind I hold myself tight to my inspiration That guides me through the ruins of my conscience Despising myself because I sing of disgrace To not get lost I'll follow you, as a moth follows the light I'll get burnt