|
Was I wrong? |
|
Wrong in assuming |
|
That nothing at all, without thought |
|
Would just fall into place? |
|
Was it hope, that something would change me |
|
That led me to see the mistakes |
|
That had gutted my frame? |
|
Was it strength, yearning for purpose? |
|
Or weakness just desperately searching |
|
For something to fix? |
|
To create, from self-induced ruin |
|
To try and rebuild what remains from |
|
What I have destroyed |
|
Why'd I make it so hard? |
|
So quick to doubt? |
|
So ready to fuck myself over... |
|
Was it truth, logic or reason |
|
Disappointment of fear that led me |
|
To question all things |
|
Far beneath self-induced wreckage |
|
I rest in pathetic assurance |
|
That failure is safe |
|
Why'd I make it so hard? |
|
So quick to doubt? |
|
So ready to fuck myself again... |
|
Was I wrong? |
|
Wrong in assuming |
|
That nothing at all, without thought |
|
Would just fall into place? |
|
Was it hope, that something would change me |
|
That led me to see the mistakes |
|
That had gutted my frame? |
|
Why'd I make it so hard? |
|
So quick to doubt? |
|
So ready to fuck myself over |
|
So ready to fuck myself again... |
