Oh for the words to say what lays inside-
Emotions, fears, and all the stains, of former tears I’ve cried.
The pain the past inflicted, which lingers on and on-
If I but had the words they’d make a sad and lonely song.
The emptiness which sorrow leaves behind-
It’s melancholy strains which tend to echo through the mind-
Regrets for hurting all the ones whom in the past we’ve wronged
If I could only write them down, they’d make a mournful song
The doubts, and rank confusion; which dwell within the mind-
It’s hard for me to tell today, from days I’ve left behind-
The years fly by so quickly, now, I wonder where they’ve gone-
If I could trace their dismal path, ‘twould be a sad old song...
The scars of self inflicted wounds, by harsh things that we’ve said
Especially to people, who have long ago been dead-
The weakness left in places, that years ago seemed strong-
Like character and concious, would make for quite a song.