who knows who I might have been
if someone would have spoken and I could have listened
who knows what I could have discovered
if I could have found myself
who knows where I would have journeyed
for had I even found a clue, I still would have feared to travel
who knows if I ever even came of age
since I always worshiped only youth
who knows why I did all those things I now must regret
it simply would not matter, if only they still made sense today
who knows how I poisoned every good opportunity
if I had really tried, I could not have done it any better
who knows who I might have worked with
if I did not always keep anger so close at hand
who knows what I could have become
if that blackness had not dwelt so deep inside
who knows where I would have settled
if I were not forced to flee myself so often
who knows when I might have slowed down
if I had not given myself up as very broken
who knows why I did not listen
if I ever even thought of that, I did not pay attention
who knows how I grew so tired
if I never really worked too hard at all
who knows who could have helped me on my way
if I was not sure where I was going
who knows what I was thinking
if I always thought I never had a clue
who knows where I would have stopped
if reality had not at last got in my way
who knows when I stopped living for the future
if I never stopped trying to forget my past
who knows if the doors would still have stopped opening
if I had not let them hit me as I left again, in the past
who knows how I was mistaken for one of the living
if I was the walking zombie I knew inside
who knows why I felt so empty
if I really was as full of shit as I believed
who knows how I stayed alive throughout the endless years
if I thought my life had ended so very long ago
who knows who I might not have brought to tears
if I could have just felt myself in her place
who knows what remains behind
if I come from a past that was always lived for today
who knows where I finally saw myself
if I was always running, and never looking back
who knows when I started trying just to slow down
if I now go downhill so fast, quite out of control
who knows why I act like such a macho
if I know I am a chicken-shit disgrace
who knows how much time I should not have wasted
if I wished to age without regrets
who knows who might have helped this boy
if I had not been too much of a man to ask
who knows what I might have heard
if I could have stilled those inner voices
who knows where I picked up so many wrong ideas
if I would not listen to anyone at all
who knows when I first looked up and saw the game was over
if I still appear to strive to win
who knows why I thought we were somehow different
if I just look around at all the things we’ve done
who knows how often I started over
if I am still so very close to the beginning
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